Thanks to @bi-focal12 for the tag! Glad I actually have something to share, its been a few weeks!
So, I already mentioned in a previous post that I had started a new short story, tentatively titled "A Day In The Un-Life," that I had become enamored of so much that I was hoping to polish it off enough to try submitting it to someone official (once it gets to that hopeful final draft). However, I don't mind sharing snippets of it in tag games so here's a chunk of the first draft:
*****
Mr. Alastair Harley of The Lesser Manor, driving a shambling coach drawn by a team of four, immediately pulled his reins to slow down the clattering carriage to a crawl. Inky torrents of dust and gravel skittered and flew through the frosty air as he cracked his whip and barked rasping commands at his pack of unruly horned beasts. Thin trails of wheel ruts and six-toed paw-prints crushed down into the soft, squishy surface of the road, growing deeper and darker as they came to a halt mere feet away from the pale passenger they sought.
“Hai, you wicked beasties!!! Stop, I said, stop!!!”
Smiling as always, the specter at the side of the road walked out to meet Harley and his team of scarlet-backed manticores, their golden horns and claws glistening against the fog, their jade-green tongues dripping as they panted and growled from halting their tumultuous pace. The gentleman stroked the striped tawny mane of the upper right-most manticore with a soothing song to calm the beast, chuckling as a snap of jewel-bright jaws nonetheless forced him to back away.
“Is that you, sir? Master Magnus? My apologies for the uncertainties, but the mist is awfully thick down this stretch of The Endless Highway! I only hope I’ve not thrown you off-schedule.”
“You and I both know that time has no meaning in The Grey Domains, Harley,” said Magnus Winters, climbing aboard the carriage’s outer framework with his head leaned back as if they were in motion and he wished to feel the wind rippling through his short, shiny shock of platinum hair. “The final swing of Kronos’ pendulum touches us naught. Regardless, I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”
*****
Still have to finish the first draft, I'll let folks know when its ready for anyone who wishes to become alpha/beta readers :)
Open Tag & also tagging @my-cursed-prince, @bardic-tales, @aalinaaaaaa, @callsigndreadfrost, @willtheweaver, @nightmaricwriter, @avrablake, @writingingraves, @diabolical-blue & @ryns-ramblings.
Boarding Pass For Asmodeus and Bianca (from the Summerfest Games) :)
Hi. Thanks for the @writeblrsummerfest's ask game. I hope you're doing well and have lots of creative energy. 💙
In a world where gods walk among mortals and the veil between realms is perilously thin, even beings of immense power like Bianca and Asmodeus are shaped by place. The human world is not just a battleground of ideologies and bloodlines for them. It is a symbolic crucible that tests the limits of their identities.
In FWC, dream and nightmare destinations are more than geographical. They're manifestations of longing, vulnerability, and trauma, filtered through divine perception. What would these entities see in our world? Where would they thrive, or unravel?
Below are their dream and nightmare destinations in our reality, grounded in who they are during the Pandemonix arc for Bianca, and the height of his madness for Asmodeus, formally the Watcher Angel Azrakiel.
Asmodeus: Hellish Prince of Lust
Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse, annihilation, blood, grief, loss, manipulation, murder, powerlessness, religious trauma, ritual violence, war, worship, worship abuse
Dream Destination – Vatican City, Rome (Because of course it would be.)
There is a certain cruel poetry in the idea of Asmodeus feeling most at home in the heart of the Catholic Church. Vatican City, with its gold-gilded cathedrals, rigid hierarchical structures, and ceremonial reverence, would not repel him. It would entice him. To him, this is not holy ground. It’s the ultimate arena of dominance and denial. The layered rituals, the concealed corruption, and the reverence for divine authority? All of it reflects his own values, distorted through an infernal lens. He would walk the Vatican Museums like a collector surveying his trophies and would be amused by how mortals glorify suffering and subjugation under the guise of salvation.
Asmodeus would see the College of Cardinals as laughably outmatched. Old men in crimson robes pretend to wield divine authority while he once sat beside the Creator. He'd find their strict doctrines on purity, lust, and sin not offensive but deeply validating. They affirm everything he believes about the hypocrisy of light.
Asmodeus thrives on irony, and the idea that the world's most "sacred" institution has committed atrocities under divine sanction would be intoxicating to him. Here, he could operate not just unseen but sanctified. And that’s the real dream for a fallen watcher angel who craves control: to be mistaken for God.
His ultimate fantasy? To corrupt a conclave from within. Imagine. Whispers in confessionals, temptation in the form of miracle cures, and a black mass staged beneath the Sistine Chapel. For Asmodeus, Vatican City isn't just a throne. It’s a canvas. He would turn sacred architecture into infernal sigils, twist choirs into incantations. Every angel painted on every ceiling would weep blood as he rewrites scripture in shadows.
This isn’t about destruction. It’s about desecration masked as divine authority. The most satisfying heresy is the one that no one recognizes as heresy until it’s far too late.
Nightmare Destination – Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, Japan
For all his cruelty and blood-soaked and creation ambition, Asmodeus cannot stomach meaningless annihilation. Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park would be a psychic chokehold for him. It's a mirror that reflects the one thing he cannot control: the consequences of unearned power. The site of humanity’s most horrific single act of war is not triumphant to him. It is terrifying. He would be forced to see a world that doesn't need demons to fall apart. Mortals did this on their own. And more importantly, they regretted it.
The quiet of the park, the echoing absence of life, and the charred skeletal dome that still stands? All of it screams in a language Asmodeus cannot answer with manipulation. The eternal flame, burning not for conquest but for peace, mocks him.
Here, lust means nothing. Power means nothing. You cannot seduce a soul that has already mourned its body. You cannot rule over a silence that has chosen to speak in memorial instead of vengeance. The sheer humility of the place disgusts him, because it reveals his greatest fear: that power without control ends in dust.
And worst of all, as a divine being and one of the original angels born during the Beginning Times, he can feel the prayers here. Millions of them. But they are not begging for power or vengeance or wealth. They are begging for mercy, for understanding, and for peace.
These are concepts Asmodeus has long dismissed as weakness, yet here, they have built something enduring from ashes. Hiroshima is sacred, but not in the way Vatican City pretends to be. It is holy because it remembers, and, most importantly, not because it reigns. And that makes it unbearable for a being who demands forgetfulness and worship. It is proof that there are things even devils cannot undo: and that some evils, once committed, are not power but penance.
Bianca Moore: Pandemonix Arc
Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse, coercion, cults, emotional manipulation, forced divinity, parental trauma, spiritual exploitation, weaponization of trauma
Dream Destination – Kyoto, Japan
Kyoto is the living tapestry of ancient magic and understated grace: an urban temple garden where time seems to fold back on itself. For Bianca, whose life has been a whirlwind of divine prophecy and demonic violence, Kyoto would feel like a whispered promise of normalcy carried on cherry-blossom petals.
Here, every torii gate and vermilion shrine is a threshold between worlds, echoing her own existence at the crossroads of celestial and infernal blood. Walking the winding lanes of Gion at dawn, she’d taste the city's hush before the city fully wakes. It would be a silence unburdened by cultists or demonic commanders: a perfect for letting her own heart speak.
During sakura season, the falling blossoms would mirror both her fragility and her capacity for renewal. Bianca would sit beneath the trees in Maruyama Park, journal in hand, watching petals drift like luminous fingerprints on the wind. This simple act, scribbling words as the world softly weeps in pink, would remind her that beauty can be both transitory and eternal. She could let tears mix with ink, knowing that here in this sacred place, grief is held in gentle reverence and not weaponized by a father’s cruelty or a god’s decree. Kyoto’s poetry of impermanence would teach her that it’s safe to heal even if everything eventually changes.
As twilight drapes over Kiyomizu-dera, Bianca would climb the wooden terraces for a view of lantern-dotted rooftops and distant mountains. The mingle of incense, temple bells, and nighttime breeze would feel like a benediction: an unspoken permission to be whole.
She’d savor yuzu-scented tea in a quiet machiya, letting the warm citrus notes ground her in the moment, far from the Gargoyle-haunted cathedrals and Alaskian landscapes of her past.
In Kyoto, the ordinary ritual of tea becomes an art of presence, and for Bianca, presence is both a revolution and a refuge.
On the surface, Sedona appears like a healing sanctuary. It's renowned for spiritual retreats, crystal shops, vortexes of energy, and holistic centers promising enlightenment. But to Bianca, it's a festering wound wrapped in lavender-scented gauze. This place pretends to understand the sacred, but it sells the sacred for profit. And that makes it infinitely worse than her son's nightmare location: Las Vegas. At least Vegas is honest about its hunger. Sedona lies.
Every smiling spiritual guru here would feel like a mask over a leech. They’d try to cleanse her aura, prescribe her moonwater, and interpret her trauma as a lesson she chose before birth.
To Bianca, who was born a weapon and hid in a human vessel, whose pain was engineered, not karmic, this language is violence. It’s erasure under the guise of peace. The crystal shops would make her skin crawl. The wellness cults and new-age mysticism that profit off stolen spiritual traditions would echo the exact kind of manipulation Asmodeus used on mortals: aesthetic kindness masking as coercive control.
Worst of all, Sedona would almost fool her. The beauty of the red rocks, the warm winds, and the illusion of quiet safety? It’s tempting. But under the surface, it smells like false healing. Like people who want your story, not your freedom. Who want your power, but not your truth.
For teenage Bianca, who is trying so hard to reclaim her autonomy in the Pandemonix arc, Sedona is the cruelest place she could be: a paradise that wants her to shut up and smile while it sells pieces of her soul and maybe her 'angelic' tears.
This delightfully thrilling Prologue what kept me glued to the screen despite insisting I was just going to take a peek and read it later...
is by @kingragnarok-writes, enjoy the first paragraph;
Lightning split the night sky over Silvergard into a thousand searing shards of storm-cloud and shadow. Wind whipped and whistled across the dark waters of the spring-chilled lake and over the cobbled squares of the capitol’s eastern wards, cold and keening. A night of fell omens in the ancient lore of both faith-keeper and free-thinker, so said the runes carved into the memory-stones of the island city’s foundations itself.
Read the rest here
--
Know that I meant it when I said I hadn't intended to read it all right this minute. I was compelled. Dragged along by fanciful descriptions, delectable levity in the midst of panic and some words I haven't seen in anything for some time (hello, 'oriel' and 'saturnine', how I adore you).
I fell for the lead pretty quickly, give me a panicky man what is described as usually more put together who worries everyone for the mess he's become and you have me by the eyeballs.
There's enough description sprinkled about to build a world without strangling the action and I cannot express enough how much this means to me. I know exactly what I need to know and am enthralled.
Hi to my readers/fellow writers! Sorry this blog's been a bit dead/quiet of late, hoping to change that. Between a death in the family over the last month & constant bad winter weather, my mind has not been dwelling in the best state.
Anyway-I'm happy to report that a story-spark lit up in my brain yesterday & I wrote just shy of 7000 words in one day (not quite a record for me but very close; this happens sometimes, weeks of emptiness followed by a day full of words and worlds leaping from my mind). I'd say I'm about half-way done with this story & hope to finish the first draft within the following week. It's rare I have such clarity and confidence for a piece of writing but I do now.
For those curious, the story is currently titled "A Day In The Un-Life" and is about Magnus Winters, a pale young gentleman from The Grey Domains, who serves as Lord Messenger for The Undying Prince of Death, being sent to the World of The Living to collect four souls in particular. He knows not why, only that these souls-their deaths still raw and fresh-are requested and he must bear them back through The Void via a pure-black stagecoach drawn by four manticores. The story has a four seasons theme for each dying character, switching POVs with every season. Their deaths range from the simple-a car accident in spring, a burning house in winter-to the over-the-top-drowning due to a cruise-ship sinking in a summer storm, a lover's tiff that results in someone being shoved through the stained-glass window of a cathedral one autumn night.
I am so happy with this story so far that I'm thinking of polishing it up for an actual submission attempt once I feel its ready (how or to whom, I've no idea, I've never tried that before) So when the first draft is complete, instead of posting it, I will ask for beta readers to send the draft to. I'll let everyone know when I'm ready for that-please message me if you're interested! I'd like at least a dozen beta-readers if possible.
As for other writing projects-they are still on the back-burner. I'll try to see if I can write a flash fic or two soon so I have something to share with all of you.
Thanks as always for following/reading even when I'm a bit out of it! I appreciate all of you so much!
Greetings to my fellow writeblrs, followers and readers! Time for the weekly posting of my newest rough draft chapter for my current WIP, The Heralds of Blood, what I hope would be the first book in a series I'm planning called The Remnants Of The Goddess War.
The response to the project has been overwhelmingly positive and supportive, thanks so much to everyone for the reblogs, likes, replies, asks and other forms of support! I have been having more fun with this project than anything I've written in a long while and hope to keep it going. As of this posting, I have finished up through Chapter Eighteen and started Chapter Nineteen, outlined through Chapter Forty and will try working on supplementary material in the near future! Having the weekly posting deadline helps a lot to keep me motivated/give me time to finish what I need!
Links to the prologue and previous chapters can be found on the pinned post at the top of my blog (there are starting to be too many to put in each post so go there if you wish to start the story). I have also started adding supplementary material to the pinned post to better understand the story and the world-so far I've published a post about Leylines, Magic and Mages and the Character Profiles (Parts One, Two and Three). I hope to have a post about the Geography of Retha up in the near future as the story will eventually move from its initial setting (been working on that, too, so hopefully that will be ready within the next month). I will also be working on a backstory on The Seven Goddesses and a Brief World History at some point. Maps may be a while-if anyone could link me to a decent (and free) fantasy map generator, I'd be grateful!
I will be tagging anyone I think is interested in reading the story, please let me know in replies/messages if you wish to be added or removed: @houndsofcorduff, @bardic-tales, @nightmaricwriter, @dontpokethekitty, @510amy5, @talesfromaurea, @firesidefantasy, @detectivepetrichor, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @alcego, @aalinaaaaaa, @satohqbanana, @thalion71, @dragomango, @writingamongther0ses, @dyrewrites, @my-cursed-prince, @lordkingsmith, @asher-writes and @winterandwords. Also adding other and newer followers I think may be interested-@a-forlorn-crow, @ieppiq, @willtheweaver, @bi-focal12, @writingingraves, @lyssq, @placeholdername9342, @alternativeforensicscientist, @niqhteyes, @pluttskutt and @keeping-writing-frosty -Again, if you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!
If you're new to my blog/my story, please go check out the Pinned Post and start from the Prologue and then through the first twelve chapters, getting really involved with the story by this point so it'll be harder to follow!
Again, comments, likes, reblogs, replies and messages are always welcome!
Posting this a bit early due to various weekend chores tomorrow.
And now beneath the read-more, Chapter Sixteen: Harbingers:
CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
HARBINGERS
Maianar 24th, 3052 A.G.
White Crescent Tower, Palecliffe Manor
Argenthall, North Silvergard Isle
Deep within the dark domain of his dreams, dwarfed by a yawning cave mouth the size of a palace, Trey stood naked and alone before the Emperor of All Wyrm-Kind.
The dragon’s eyes were inky pools brimming with whorls of frosted starfire, the horns dizzying lengths of gilded ivory, the fangs curving daggers of sparkling sapphire and diamond. Scales of gleaming gold lined the imperial serpent’s impossibly vast body, a suit of glistening coin-bright mail undulating along rippling muscles and shining underbelly. Obsidian talons clung to a treasure horde beyond all fairy tale fortunes in scope, rubies, emeralds and carbuncles large as one’s head skittering down slopes of silver shillings and golden crowns.
Lore passed between dragons, wyrms and their human handlers over the centuries had long spoken of the Golden Dragons of The Primal Age, the first beasts created to serve both Urania and Heliona in their domains of wind and fire. On long, lonely nights tending to the wyrm-fold by himself, Trey had often tried conjuring up what one would look like in rough pencil sketches and elaborate chalk scrawlings. Never before had he pictured such a majestic monster as the shining beast curled up before him, vast aurelian wings spread wide.
Nor had Trey pictured himself meeting a legendary dragon while buck-ass naked. Such was the way of dreams.
HUMAN! The Golden Dragon’s thoughts flashed bright and hot as Retha’s molten core. Lurching upwards from the shimmering silver hills and crystalline pools of glittering gems, the Emperor-Wyrm’s galaxy eyes were fixated directly on Trey. LONG HAVE WE FORESEEN THIS DAY! THE KEEPER OF THE LOST MEMORIES ASCENDS! THE ANCIENT WAR ARISES ONCE MORE! HARBINGER OF THE WORLD’S END, WELCOME!
“Oh, great, it’s one of those kind of dreams, isn’t it? Damn it all to hell…”
DO NOT SCORN DREAMS THAT GRANT GLIMPSES OF ULTIMA’S PATH! The imperious dragon roared, plumes of brilliant white fire scorching the cave mouth’s roof. SUCH GIFTS ARE SHARED WITH FEW OF THE DRAKHARI. YOU ARE A BLESSED BEARER OF LOST TREASURE BEYOND ALL THE CLUTCHES OF WYRMKIND!
Trey scratched at his head in slight puzzlement, not caring about leaving every inch of his hot, sweaty dream flesh exposed (if the dragon could go naked without shame, well, so could he). Now, where had he heard the term Drakhari before? And what exactly did it mean again?
SEEK OUT THE HIDDEN HORDE OF HAEDREAHL AND BRING FORTH THE MARK OF THE MOONFLAME, The Emperor-Wyrm commanded, coins sliding beneath his claws. THERE, THE GREAT ELDER WILL WITNESS YOUR SOUL AND FREE THE FIRES OF YOUR MIND. YOU WILL BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND THE WAR BETWEEN OUR DIVINE MOTHERS, WHAT BROUGHT ABOUT THE DYING OF THE DRAGONS AND HOW YOU MUST STOP IT ALL FROM HAPPENING AGAIN.
Trey blinked. He’d read lots of dragon lore over the years, even remembered some of it. He had no idea why it all seemed to be jumbled together in his sleeping brain, but he supposed unlocking the memory-stone would’ve had consequences eventually. Was this one of those untranslatable memories he’d seen or was this really happening?
OF COURSE THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING! AND IF YOU TRULY VALUE YOUR ROLE AS GUARDIAN OF THE WYRM-FOLD, YOU WILL TRUST MY WORD AND SEEK OUT WHAT I HAVE COMMANDED TO BE FOUND! YOU WILL THANK ME LATER!
NOW WAKE UP, TREY BAXTER!
A shock of cool morning air blowing across his back immediately jolted Trey back to reality, face smushed against cloud-soft feather pillows. He was naked in the real world, too, snowy sheets tangled between his legs. Wiping the drool from his face, Trey twisted around, sat up and recalled his real-world situation.
“Right. Lady Juno’s place, same as last night. Classy as ever.”
Trey stood, stretched, swung his arms around in circles and strode towards the slightly open windows. The guest room was patterned all in shades of white, cream, beige and soft purplish-gray, touched up with silks and lace, bright in contrast to his dark brown skin. After the backyard battle against the Blood-Wraith’s shadow, the Baroness Sharpe had moved them all from the hotel to the manor as thanks for their aid.
And then she’d proceeded to lock herself away in mourning.
So here at Palecliffe he and his friends remained until their dismissal, whenever that was. Unexpected guests and unwanted reminders of pain, death and suffering. At least their surroundings were pleasant and first-class quality.
Grateful no one was in the gardens down below to see his body in its full unclothed glory, Trey leaned against the glass and admired the beauty beyond the storm and mud. Stirring thoughts of that grim, ghoulish day and the fatigue he still felt joined the stirring vestiges of his hazy, portentous dream.
A few minutes later, as the luxurious hot water of the bronze-chased guest shower cascaded across his tired muscles, a dragon of a different sort began stirring.
Good morning, Trey! Baldwin shouted in the back of his mind, eager as a puppy. I just caught the biggest lake-eel I’ve ever eaten! I wish you could’ve seen it! When will you be home?
Not now, Baldy! Trey shrieked in his mind and almost aloud. He rinsed off, shut down the shower, grabbed the fluffiest towels known to man and dried off. I’ve told you before not to message me when in bed or in the shower, humans need their privacy!
Oh, right. You could be mating. Baldwin’s gruff giggle was a weird sound to have rattling through his skull. It sometimes took a moment to recall Baldy was an adolescent dragon. I don’t see a mate around anywhere, though, only you. Does that mean-
I am NOT touching that topic or anything of the sort right now! We’ll talk after breakfast!
Trey moved through his morning motions at rapid speed, tugging on his gear as if the manor was on fire. Having expected to only be in Argenthall a day or two at most, Trey had a limited wardrobe in his small duffel bag. Once more, he was back to the nice black silk shirt and slacks from the first day (cleaned and ironed by Lady Juno’s incredible laundresses Jill and Dana, fine as they were flirty). Trey liked his typical work gear and the traditional leather vest, but he had to admit, he looked stunning in the dusky red coat.
Enough admiring your features, we already know you’re good-looking. For a human. Walburga spoke now, her thoughts rumbling with pleasure and satisfaction. Presumably she’d also eaten well this morning, in turn increasing his own hunger. When will you return to us?
All in good time! Like I told Baldy, let me eat my morning grub, then we’ll chat!
Uncertain whether he should run to breakfast first or go check with Ian and Carmen about Lady Juno’s status, Trey turned to his favorite dice to make his choice, as was his custom.
Black with red pips, the pair bounced atop the dresser’s polished surface with a clacking clatter. Two of the same number, he’d rustle up some chow; two different faces meant duty first.
A pair of sixes. Looks like Lord Fortune wants me to fill my belly to the brim!
Down the winding halls he sprinted with his trident in tow, careful to mind the fancy curios and floofy ferns on display. White linen curtains wafted in the warm spring breeze. The salty scent of the sea nearby made him miss mornings spent high on dragon-back, in search of prey in the water or jousting with the other wyrm-binders. Trey quickly bounded down the stairs and away from the tantalizing thoughts of flight and freedom.
While the manor’s upper levels were empty almost to creepy ghost town standards, the ground floor had multiple servants bustling between chambers. Most were older folks, long used to taking care of the dusty wood-paneled halls hung with hunting trophies, painted shields and faded tapestries. A few were closer in age to Trey and his friends, children or grandchildren of the chief servants, happy to have someone other than frumpy old farts and high seats to attend to.
Watering the plants in the foyer was a gorgeous, curvy redhead in a form-fitting grey dress, grin widening in response to Trey’s own as he leapt down the last few steps. Answering calls on the house’s primary vision-crystal array was a handsome footman in dark brown livery, alluring eyes and wavy hair both a rich blue-black. He likewise returned Trey’s grin, dark eyes and dazzling smile following his long-legged stride down the hall.
Should Lady Juno keep them here any longer, Trey would have to find out just how far he could stretch the definition of room service.
Passing by a stand mirror illuminated another aspect of his features that may have potentially intrigued the serving crew. Trey’s eyes still glowed as red as his coat from his morning meet-up with the dragons. One small glimpse of his reflected ember-eyes made that odd word from his bizarre dreams float to the surface of his thoughts again: Drakhari.
Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in a long, long time, grumbled the newest draconic mind linked to Trey’s. Llewelyn had turned out to be a gentle old soul, pleasant to chat with and politely curious about the troubles bogging down Trey’s life. He didn’t butt in needlessly like Baldwin nor chide him with motherly affection like Walburga. Drakhari. Yes, a very long time since I heard that word. Reminds me of days spent watching over the third brood-mother’s hatchlings in my first clutch, telling stories over the morning lamb. Now what was her name…
Do you know what Drakhari means, Llewelyn? Doubt it’s in my Word-A-Day Calendar.
Hmm? Oh, right, yes, let me ask one of my mates. Branwen might remember, hmm yes, and Caradoc certainly would know the meaning, he knows lots of things…
Trey paced outside the kitchens, hungry for both breakfast and answers. If the word turned out to be important, then perhaps the dream truly was a harbinger of greater trials to come, a bumpy road ahead.
I remember now! Yes, it’s what we called the first of your kind, the humans who bound their blood and souls to ours during The Dying Days. Not fully human any more were they, but also more so. Dragon-blooded and dragon-hearted they were, your ancestors. The Drakhari.
A chill crawled along Trey’s spine. Among those legends shared between wyrm-binders while off-duty (when they weren’t busy drinking, gambling or bedding one another) was that of their order’s founding, tales of dark rituals where initiates drank enchanted blood and bathed in essence of dragonfire. Those stories had been Trey’s favorites when he was new to his calling, the seventh generation of Baxters serving The Guild. He’d never believed them to be true.
Were these Drakhari the source of those tales? Was he truly descended from them? Were these just scraps of visions drifting to the forefront of Trey’s mind or something genuinely important from the memory-stone and the vast archive amid Silvergard’s stony roots? Should he seek out this hidden horde and the rest of the golden dragon’s message?
Another legend. There hadn’t been a pure golden dragon in thousands of years, not since The Goddess War. Maybe never. But the dream was so strong, so vivid.
If I tossed the dice, would they label the dream truth or fiction? Or stand on edge?
Curiosity shelved until further notice, Trey weaved his way through the kitchens, snatching up a plate of buttermilk pancakes, gooey fried eggs, honey-glazed ham steak and crispy golden hashbrowns. As most manor-folk seemed to avoid both the great hall and the smaller dining chambers, he sought out the favorite dining nook along the patio, hoping his friends hadn’t yet finished eating.
Turning the corner, Trey came across an airy, empty corridor full of abstract art, silk hangings, framed folios and an unusual observer surveying everything from the center of the polished parquet floor. A tall, pale woman in smoke gray robes, bald as an egg and possessed of a pair of eerily colorless eyes. Clearly a mage and one of the weirder kinds, not from Eli’s lot.
She turned away from the paintings, thin lips curled into a snarl as her gaze fell upon Trey. As if his very presence made something inside the strange woman turn feral.
“Wyrm-binder! You dare face me, here of all places!” The mage moved towards Trey at such a fast pace he almost dropped his breakfast. Luckily, only one pancake slipped off the plate as the woman slowed her snake-like strike to a crawl, eyes suddenly trembling. “No, wait, this cannot be correct…”
“Excuse me, ma’am, could you please explain why the hell you just tried to steamroll my poor innocent breakfast?! What did that pancake ever do to you, huh?”
“No, no, no, this is wrong, wrong, wrong, I should not be here…”
The bald woman wandered off down the direction Trey had just come from, muttering to herself and waving her hands around as if swatting away flies. When Trey retrieved his fallen food-the five-second rule was in effect-and looked back down the corridor, she had vanished.
“Man, Lady Juno has the strangest friends…”
His morning moments of weirdness hopefully over with, Trey wandered outdoors. Not only was he relieved to find Eli, Carmen and Ian all together, he was startled by the presence of not just Lady Juno’s other weird friend, the affable Amir Khaled, but also Lady Juno herself, free at last from her seven days of initial mourning.
The Baroness of Argenthall was a damn fine woman by anyone’s standard, elegant and well-refined like an old movie actress. A touch less stiff than her dearly departed twin, dark chestnut tangles framing a proud, pretty face. Her aquiline features were faintly hawkish, but the distant grey eyes were clearly spent on pursuits other than hunting of late, haunted and misty. The beautiful blade of a baroness dressed all in black and gray, somber and sober.
“Ah, young Baxter, I was hoping you’d join us, do take a seat. Once we’re all settled, I’ll share with you all some thoughts concerning our near future.”
He flashed another winning grin at their hostess who surprisingly returned the favor, though her grin was sad and small. Lady Juno had learned everyone’s names and backgrounds after hearing them only once, a fine trait for anyone in charge to have. She’d seldom spoken to her guests since they’d delivered their unfortunate news, but she’d been attentive, patient and polite when she had. After years of castle gossip about the other Sharpe being an eccentric, careless dreamer, meeting her in person had been something of a surprise.
Trey took a seat by Eli, again resplendent in full mage’s regalia and recovering throughout the week by eating half the manor’s larder. Three rather large plates sat before his impish friend, devoid of a single crumb or streak of sauce. Eli’s hungry eyes enviously drifted across Trey’s breakfast spread, so he slid it to the table’s edge.
Where his food then proceeded to be eyed by a different voracious beast altogether.
Being so close to a harbor town, gulls, kestrels and a wide variety of seaside creatures clambered to the homes up cliffside, far from the salt and spray. A sea wyvern hatchling, of all things, was darting about the patio and begging Trey for treats. The little guy was an unusual specimen, with translucent silver-blue scales and gossamer wings flapping about, almost glass-like in appearance. The shining scales reminded him eerily of the Wyrm-Emperor’s dream-horde.
With bright jade-green eyes fixated on Trey and a sky-blue tongue flickering out in the cutest way possible, there was no way he could resist feeding the lost, hungry creature. A large chunk of greasy ham hit the ground and adorable carnage ensued.
Lady Juno tapped a spoon against an empty glass, redirecting his attention.
“I wish to thank you all once more for being such loyal, steadfast citizens and defending both my life, the lives of my friends and faithful servants, and my home away from home. And for aiding my sister’s court in this bewildering crisis; we are lucky to have you on our side and in our service. I am lucky to have you…”
Ian stood up and gave a quick salute. Unnecessary, as he was not a soldier directly under her command and members of the Azure Order served The Sovereign of Omnecath rather than the governments assigned their aid. Nonetheless, with that oath of his and Lady Juno on the verge of weeping, the gesture strengthened Lady Juno’s resolve.
“My sister and I, well, truthfully, we hadn’t been close in a great many years…We are but four-and-thirty years of age, too young for one of us already to move beyond the veil. So long spent without one another and never again shall the chance return. Our hearts were hardened to stone and ice by the pressures of our positions; where I once thought she was the colder, I now believe mine was most devoid of warmth. I could’ve helped stabilize her position as Protector of the Freehold and instead I left her adrift, turned back every courier, spared no thought for the people I should’ve been helping Lavinia. Well, no more.”
Lady Juno unbuttoned her funereal frock and produced from within a different sword than the blade she’d battled with against the striga-shadow and its army of mud-men. This blade resembled a prettier version of Ian’s standard spell-sword, with the hilt and guard shaped like a rose blossom, bright blue leyline patterns etched in the flashing silver-white vorpal blade like prickly briar vines.
Trey couldn’t help but whistle in appreciation, earning a small smack from Carmen across the table.
“After mourning Lavinia’s loss these last few days, I have spoken with the Civic Assembly, Paladin Primus Rook and the leaders of your orders. We stand in a moment of unprecedented crisis, with a Shadow Vault breached and a terrible wraith with unknown desires unleashed upon the world. The official state funeral for my sister will be held on the Summer Solstice; Lavinia always loved the summer. We have a month until that date in which to try setting things right, if possible.”
“We?” Eli asked with trepidation.
“Yes, I wish all of you with me, if you will follow. Before officially taking on my mantle as Regent of Silvergard, I must make haste to Bronzeharbor to speak with Lord Buckler, Marshal of the Westerwynde Alliance, and have every Freehold brought under a high security alert. Aid to all who need and desire it in preventing more deaths from this dreadful menace and any allies it may summon. As the Blood-Wraith will likely be drawn to other Shadow-Vaults, Omnecath and the Azure Order must also be warned, with new Paladins assigned to secure all others that can be located. Once I’ve received an answer to my proposal, I shall venture forth on the hunt to vanquish this wretched wraith and avenge my sister’s memory!”
Lady Juno turned towards Ian, who immediately knelt. For a moment, Trey thought some sort of knighting ceremony was about to occur, but Ian could only receive that title once his training was complete, far as he knew.
“Ian Herbert Greencross, I have found you a faithful servant and commendable fighter from the little I’ve witnessed; you will make a fine Paladin one day, I can already tell. You have already sworn oath to my sister: that you would track down The Blood-Wraith, avenge the fallen, protect Silvergard and obey my commands. While in ordinary circumstances I would agree with Paladin Rook that you should return to your training, I need someone I can trust implicitly at my side. Thus, I wish for your continued aid in this quest. Short of The Sovereign himself ordering your return, you are in my service until further notice. Is this understood and accepted?”
“Per my oath and my desire to see this creature vanquished, I understand and accept.”
“Very good. Unto you, I bestow this spell-sword from my personal arsenal: Silverthorn. Please take good care of her while in my service.”
Ian received the blade in solemn awe, backing away as Lady Juno had yet more to say.
“No one else here has sworn any oaths directly to my sister or myself. As staff in service to Sterling Keep, you have sworn oaths to aid and defend its people and patron in hours of need. This is such an hour, one of the darkest we’ve known. Your superiors have all been informed of my desire to have you aid me in this hunt, and each have acquiesced. I beg of you your aid, your strength, your loyalty. Will you also follow me into darkness and fire?”
Trey was surprised to find himself standing up immediately alongside Carmen and Eli, answering in the affirmative. He had always respected the oath he’d taken but not until he’d argued with Jamison in the catacombs had he truly considered how serious such a promise was.
How many darkest hours do we have ahead of us? How far will this oath demand I go?
Atop the patio railing, the glass-scaled sea wyvern let loose a shrill little screech in Trey’s direction before flying off, almost as if he knew something Trey didn’t. A cute, curious behavior or yet another harbinger of things to come?
“I thank you all for your continued service and hope to find all at Sterling Keep so stalwart and dependable. Now for the crux of this matter. In order to facilitate these lofty aims, I need someone else to help us along in our quest, a vessel to give us safe, swift passage. An old friend at my side. What say you, Amir? Will you accept us as temporary members of your crew and help us track this wraith down to the ends of the earth? Will you embark upon yet one more adventure with me, just like old times?”
Captain Khaled leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, the grin on his face growing wider with every word. When Lady Juno finished speaking, he donned his bizarre brassy goggles, beaming.
“Sounds like a swell idea. Let’s move on down harborside so I can introduce you folks to The Sky-Empress. Welcome aboard!”
The Heralds of Blood: Chapter Twenty-One: After The Ocean's Wrath
Greetings to my fellow writeblrs, followers and readers! Time for the weekly posting of my newest rough draft chapter for my current WIP, The Heralds of Blood, what I hope would be the first book in a series I'm planning called The Remnants Of The Goddess War.
The response to the project has been overwhelmingly positive and supportive, thanks so much to everyone for the reblogs, likes, replies, asks and other forms of support! I have been having more fun with this project than anything I've written in a long while and hope to keep it going. As of this posting, I have finished up through Chapter Twenty-One and started work on Chapter Twenty-Two as well as the next stage of the outline, outlined through Chapter Forty-Seven and will try working on supplementary material in the near future! Having the weekly posting deadline helps a lot to keep me motivated/give me time to finish what I need!
Links to the prologue and previous chapters can be found on the pinned post at the top of my blog (there are starting to be too many to put in each post so go there if you wish to start the story). I have also started adding supplementary material to the pinned post to better understand the story and the world-so far I've published a post about Leylines, Magic and Mages and the Character Profiles (Parts One, Two and Three). I hope to have a post about the Geography of Retha up in the near future as the story will eventually move from its initial setting (been working on that, too, so hopefully that will be ready within the next month or so). I am currently also working on a backstory on The Seven Goddesses and a Brief World History/Timeline. I also have a masterlist of Character Spotlights/Moodboards on my blog's pinned post. Maps may be a while-if anyone could link me to a decent (and free) fantasy map generator, I'd be grateful!
I will be tagging anyone I think is interested in reading the story, please let me know in replies/messages if you wish to be added or removed: @houndsofcorduff, @bardic-tales, @nightmaricwriter, @dontpokethekitty, @510amy5, @talesfromaurea, @firesidefantasy, @detectivepetrichor, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @alcego, @aalinaaaaaa, @satohqbanana, @thalion71, @dragomango, @writingamongther0ses, @dyrewrites, @my-cursed-prince, @lordkingsmith, @asher-writes and @memento-morri-writes. Also adding other and newer followers I think may be interested-@a-forlorn-crow, @ieppiq, @willtheweaver, @bi-focal12, @writingingraves, @lyssq, @placeholdername9342, @alternativeforensicscientist, @niqhteyes, @pluttskutt and @keeping-writing-frosty -Again, if you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!
If you're new to my blog/my story, please go check out the Pinned Post and start from the Prologue and then through the first 19 chapters, getting really involved with the story by this point so it'll be harder to follow!
Again, comments, likes, reblogs, replies and messages are always welcome!
And now, beneath the read-more: Chapter Twenty-One: After The Ocean's Wrath:
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
AFTER THE OCEAN’S WRATH
Maianar 25th, 3052 A.G.
Aboard The Sky-Empress
“What is that infernal racket?! My skull aches enough already, aaah. Oh, Jenkins, be a dear and make it go away for mummy, there’s a good boy…”
The sound of thunderous gongs greeted Juno along with the dawn’s first light, soft rays of purplish-pink and gold creeping into her cabin through bulbous portholes. She fumbled about for one of her many tassel-ended throw pillows to toss at the glass spheres set into the bioship’s coppery hull, then remembered she wasn’t at home. Only three small plain pillows were available to her, all squashed beneath her head.
“That better be the breakfast gong I hear,” Juno groused, sitting up straight as she could, tugging the silvery-blue sheets of the narrow yet comfortable bed about her. Despite the living warmth seeping through the walls, the flesh-glass shell of the crew-cabins thicker and duller in tint for privacy’s sake, she felt oddly cold. “And whatever Mr. Poole has cooked up better have less of a harsh aftertaste than that devil-seed sauce. My taste buds may never recover.”
There was no maid about to sympathize with her petty woes, sadly, nor was Jenkins around to give her a big sloppy bulldog kiss. Juno only had herself to lean on for support-that, and her Inner Critic to chide every move she made. Well, she wasn’t about to give some tedious voice that only she could hear any sort of satisfaction, so there was no sense dawdling about like a clueless understudy. Time to get moving.
The cabin’s storage unit was not nearly large enough for the attire she’d brought with her, so Juno had left everything in the chest as the servants had packed it-and always, the hairbrush and silver-backed mirror were lost in the jumble, claimed by the tangled knot of clothes she’d now declared her enemy. Victory was soon hers, however, the path to gracious beauty underway.
Having practically vaulted into bed the previous night a fatigued and fuzzy-brained mess, barely remembering to change into her scarlet silken pajamas, Juno was unsurprised to find she looked every inch the shipwreck she knew herself to be inside, lost upon a vengeful, vicious sea. Her loose locks of hair were even more of an elegant mess than usual, chestnut falls tumbling and spilling about her shoulders. She blew away the matted bird’s nest of bangs veiling her eyes, then began the tiresome business of straightening out both her appearance and memories of the previous night.
—“What do you mean, you’ve been contacted by a goddess?!” Young Sister Summerfield demanded of Ian, arms crossed. The brazen priestess’ eyes gleamed a curious gold, fierce in the firelight. The hem of her green cassock flapped about in the wind. “If anyone here’s likely to have a divine vision, it’s me! And maybe that mysterious moon-fae pilot!”
“Oh, Sera has all sorts of crazy images pop up in her mind, you have no idea!” Amir had chimed in with a firm knuckle rap against the bioship carapace while Juno had been busy noshing away at her fish. The grilled seafood was flaky and melt-in-your-mouth buttery, absolutely divine dining fare, especially given the circumstances. If there was any proof of the Saber-Ward’s claims of the isle’s godly nature, one need not have looked any further than their dinner-plate. “Sells all sort of incredible dream-art over the crystal-nexus for peanuts, I keep telling her she should be bartering with museums and private galleries but no dice…”
“Hush, now!” Juno had interjected softly. “Let the lad spin his tale.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Ian pleaded to his friend, ignoring Amir’s babbling. He paced back and forth, hands waving while his boots wove a tapestry of footprints into the sand. “Why is this island so calm, so serene, so peacefully perfect? Why isn’t it on any of the maps? It’s a Still-Point, a sacred locus, like from one of The Sojourner’s Parables! It seems like an ordinary island until you go further in and then, well…I didn’t mean to wander so far, only there were these sprites, these will-o-the-wisps, and that was bewildering because they’re gone, you know, only they weren’t, not any longer. I don’t think they just survived in this one place, they’re out of sync with time, hundreds of them. And then they led me to these ruins and, and I met a being of immense power in the island’s heart, a beautiful woman made of shadows and starfire! I, I think it was Ultima and s-she’s trying to guide me…”
Carmen took her friend’s words in surprisingly solemn stride, eyes widening as he spoke (especially at the bit where he’d expressed knowledge of The Parables, Juno noted. Ian didn’t seem the type to partake of holy lore beyond the basics his position required.) At last, she reached up and cupped the exasperated young man’s freckled face with a gentle hand.
“I believe you,” Carmen said. “I don’t know if what you saw is exactly what happened, but I believe you saw something out there. That’s enough for me. Whether this place is what holy writ describes or is merely a god-touched isle, it is clearly a place of power. I can feel it creeping into my bones. Ian’s right. We shouldn’t linger here any longer than necessary.”
“Much as I’d like to oblige you all and your constant encounters with otherworldly wackiness, we don’t leave until the ladies indoors give us the go-ahead,” Amir jabbed a thumb at The Empress. “And then I’m the one who signs off on their hard work ‘cause, hard as it may be to believe at times, I’m the captain of this tugboat. Anyone have a problem with that?”
It had turned out there were lots of problems to sort out, squabbling between the trio lasting well into the night. Jackson had snuck by them all to snatch away the fresh bundles of wood for his dwindling blaze while Trey kept wolfing down more fish and fried onions, the damp dragon-herdsman’s eyes bugging out while he enjoyed the show. Juno eventually left them all out on the beach, headed aboard ship alongside Eli once the row had grown too clamorous for both their constitutions, one morose and the other melancholy.
It had been like old times at home, really, when Father had gone off on another tirade in The Cobalt Chamber, Juno had retorted with a rapier-sharp rebuttal and Lavinia had held her tongue until there was no choice but to intervene, hers always the last word. Then hours later Juno would be staring at herself in the tri-fold screen of mirrors in her dressing chambers, wondering why she could never keep her damn mouth shut—
Juno blinked in rapid succession as she realized she stood in front of a mirror in real life as well, though this was one of the round beacon panels scrounged from the aero-hub berth, not a scrap of gilt frame in sight. Lost in thought while she’d comported herself, Juno hadn’t realized she’d finished making herself presentable, hair pulled back in a loose tail and a silver-and-sapphire brooch pinned to the lapel of her navy frock. She was ready to face whatever the morning had in store for her.
Well, almost ready.
“They have to be primed to leave by now,” Juno grumbled bitterly as she took up arms before marching into the corridor, hyper-pulse pistols in holsters and her delicate yet dangerous blade at the ready. The gongs were louder and more incessant out here, almost a klaxon. “If not, there better be a damn good reason for this nonsense!”
She patted the silvery vine cage of her sword’s hilt with fondness. Rugosa was the rapier’s name, twin to Silverthorn that was her gift to Ian. The blades had been commissioned by her perpetually giddy Aunt Drusilla to celebrate what was supposed to be a life of wedded bliss with Horatio Crane, nuptials that had ultimately never come to pass.
At least she still had the blades handy; they had proven to be by far the better option than retaining her scoundrel of an ex-fiancée.
Along her path, nodes of biomass protruded from the curving walls, wobbling like hand-sized domes of congealed jelly, a pulsing pattern of repeating lights glowing green against the milky blue flesh-glass. The weaving light pattern took Juno down one hall, then another, a squelchy sort of sigh rattling through the web of glistening organs and blown glass pipes every time she strayed.
At last, all lights seemed to lead into a chamber familiar to Juno from her previous visits aboard The Empress, a source of fresh air, food and beauty for the crew: The Arboretum.
Here, the organic wonders of the bioship were overwhelmed by a riot of colors amid fanned fronds of lush leaves, bushes and vines, a miniature paradise with a splendid fountain at its heart. Buttercups, poppies, marigolds, rhododendrons, forget-me-nots, black roses and yellow matriarch’s glory, snapdragons and snowy hydrangeas. Herbs and edible plants crowded the outer ring-basil, mint, marjoram, rosemary, the shoots of spring onions and root vegetables. Butterflies with pastel-hued wings darted back and forth, plump ladybugs and blue bees flitted from fern to flower with wild abandon.
Apart from the absence of servants and scampering hounds, Juno almost felt at home in the humid, heated chamber. She inhaled the pungent, honey-thick aromas, immediately at peace.
“Lady Juno,” Carmen greeted her from beside the fountain’s sculpted edge, kneeling upon a bank of dirt with head bowed in reverence. Hands clasped in a worshipful pose, Camen clutched her trefoil leaf pendant between fidgeting fingers. A few dark petals from a nearby rosebush floated upon the greenish water. “Do you also seek nature to bask in Verdana’s grace?”
“I tromp about the courtyard flowerbeds while Jenkins does his business, yes.” Juno brushed aside a trio of butterflies that wished desperately to roost in her hair, huffing brusquely. Her mind was an ocean besieged by storms, her thoughts a fleet of ships on the verge of being sunk. “My apologies if I’ve rained my miserable mood upon your morning prayers. Have you any clue as to what that dreadful gong was?”
“I’m just as in the dark as you,” Carmen sighed. She cast her eyes aside, lips pursed, almost as if she was suppressing some really dreadful outburst she wished to blurt out. The few times Juno had interacted with the slip of a girl so far, she’d been skittish, almost evasive every time. “I do hope it’s simply an announcement for breakfast. Or a status alert about the engines.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly.” Juno traipsed about the pool, Rugosa’s point gently dipping into the water as its hilt bounced about at her hip. “It did seem an irregular sort of noise, I must admit. Friendly though I may be with Captain Khaled, I’m not well-versed in the protocols and practices of his ship. He’s never been the type to work from a standards & practices manual.”
“I gathered as much.” Carmen closed her eyes again, finished her prayers, scooping up a bunch of dirt before letting the stream spill back to the ground to close the ritual. “Lady Juno, may I be perfectly frank with you?”
“I’d assumed you’d remain Carmen, but whatever makes you feel comfortable addressing me will work for now. I’d rather the citizens of Silvergard not see me as some distant, unapproachable figure as I take on the mantle of leadership.”
“Then I think you may have your work cut out for you, milady. Your reputation back at Sterling Keep is, how to put it delicately, less than stellar, after years of avoiding the court and, well, being both distant and unapproachable. I myself worried at first that you may have had some connection to Keymaster Quigley and the nonsense that started this nightmare, when you weren’t even considered an asset by your sister at the audience handling the emerging crisis. I knew so little about you that I worried for days about your true nature, that perhaps I was about to serve a monster as great as the one we seek to defeat…”
“So I see.” Juno bit back a curse. A small part of her had always worried her continuous distance from Lavinia’s affairs could backfire in some way, but how else was she supposed to act when she’d clearly been unwanted?! The Inner Critic, of course, pointed out that she’d gone out of her way to make herself unwanted with her constant brash dismissals of even the smallest concern sent her direction, but that was no matter now. The past was sealed beyond her reach forever. “And what do you think of me now, Adept Summerfield?”
“I think you could never wish such hurt and harm upon your sister or others,” Carmen replied, eyes downcast and slightly misty. “That we let our worries govern our thoughts and perhaps misjudged you. I have been wracked with guilt for the past few days due to those past feelings, seeing how you have mourned for Lady Lavinia and your strong desire for justice. I still don’t know you very well, nor what kind of leader you will be, but it has become clear to me you are no monster or a reckless wretch. You do care, deep down. I think I can follow you. And hope Verdana and the grace of all the goddesses will guide you down the right path as I do.”
Juno found herself almost taken aback by the girl’s sincerity. She hadn’t expected her morning to start like this at all. Most days she was busy grumbling at the damn crossword puzzle over a plate of runny eggs and untouched grapefruit while Jenkins greedily devoured her burnt toast ends.
“I…I thank you for your honesty, Carmen. Or should I call you Frank after all?”
The priestess’ smile as Juno offered a hand up was a warm and welcome sight. The Verdanan adepts were always a touch too serious for her liking, but Juno suspected she’d come to appreciate the young woman’s candor in times to come. Especially if the situation in Sterling Keep vis a vis her reputation was as poor as she reported. A crew saddled with a director widely seen as a hack would give only the basest levels of performance, after all.
“If you must know, I had dealt with Keymaster Quigley in the past. He was always a blustery and pompous old crank, far too concerned with the honors of a useless ceremonial office and the dusty treasures in his care, so I never gave him much thought. Just another doddering dotard of a minister, I always assumed. To think he was part of those dreadful Fifth Empire vermin and so close to Lavinia’s presence, it makes my skin crawl…”
Carmen’s posture as they wandered away from the fragrant greenery and into the hall relaxed even further. “So, you think they’re a bunch of nutters, too, huh?”
“That’s the kindest thing that can be said for the lot! The Fifth Empire movement is a flock of feckless fools entirely out of touch with reality. Aetholeas is dead and done and The Alliance has served us well for five centuries, may it live for five more! There may be turmoil and restlessness plaguing the world as there has always been, but that’s no reason to plunge us all into a new era of tyranny, wastage and confusion all for the sake of some shiny baubles and fancy banners for the feeble-minded pretending at patriotism. They want some of that missing glory of yesteryear back, go watch a documentary or join a historical re-enactment group and leave the rest of us well alone!”
Carmen whistled, eyes widening as they rounded the corridor. “Milady has some damn strong opinions! That was quite the little tract you spun out of nowhere, if I may be so bold.”
“Be as bold as you’d like, Frank! I have plenty more where that came from. When you move about in the same circles I do, you meet a lot of fools with even more foolish notions. I’m all for the free exchange of ideas, even foolish ones, and you’ve told me Quigley’s bunch were mere catspaws for that rotter Flint rather than the master-minds of this carnage, but they’re clearly becoming more and more dangerous by the day. They must be stopped! When I’m fully installed as Regent, I shall have to do something before they become more than a nuisance…”
Juno’s words trailed off as the pair came across the kitchens and the mess hall, the smell of something delightfully delicious drifting out from beyond the wide-arched doorway. She almost popped in to pester Mr. Poole for a tray of morning repast but found the entrance blocked by a most impressive mass of muscle.
Evelyn Gage was only a few inches beyond Juno’s reach, but the mechanic loomed like one of the Rex Gigantia from the old Keravene Epics. You could even almost picture the stern-faced monk in a pointy helmet and bronze breastplate, spear and shield at the ready (though the thought of Miss Gage belting out an overwrought aria was too much for her to handle without succumbing to a fit of giggles). Luckily for Juno, the thick-necked Hanschuline functionary only carried an overstuffed tool-chest and filmy circle of thin blue crystal sheets caught in a ring of copper-chased steel, purplish gunk dripping onto the floor.
“Ah! There you are, my Lady Sharpe! A fine morning to you-and Fraulein Summerfield, too, well met. I had hoped the sirens would lure you both to the cortex chamber, but you did not come so I have been on the hunt. I figured you would be here stuffing your faces, but it seems I beat you to the punch, ha!”
“Oh, yes, we were wondering what all that racket was about, I’m in fast need of some new eardrums and a replacement skull…”
“Those things, they are not being in my inventory, my apologies. However, I do have some good news at last! The final Aetheric Extrusion Filter has been cleansed from yesterday’s overload, and we are readying to leave. Captain Khaled requests everyone’s presence who can make it. Take-off from such a state as we landed in can be troublesome.”
“An explanation for the ruckus at last! He should flash my vision-crystal next time…”
“Amir says you would have a thousand messages to flicker through first before you caught such a warning-your vision-mail, it is perpetually clogged. I believe him, he knows these things. The sirens are for the best.”
“Hmph. An unfair assessment from my old, dear friend, I feel, but no matter. Anything we should be aware of as we leave our little mystery island behind?”
“Only that leaving will not be so simple.” Evelyn pushed forward at a quick, long-legged pace, Juno’s usual clipped walk barely enough to keep up. Carmen trailed behind, desperately trying to follow their fleet-footed march. “This strange isle may be peaceful but the weather outside, she is most angry. A storm-barrier brews around us, growing stronger by the moment.”
“Of course it is.” Juno had already felt her mind and soul a tempest-wrought ocean all morning, tossing and turning with waves a-churning, so of course reality had to mirror the melancholy. She only wished she could return to Jackson Poole’s domain and let some of his tasty cuisine settle the storm inside; judging by the ambling aromas, he was crafting something fabulous out of eggs and cream, scallions and ham, cheese and spices. Her mouth was already watering. “I only hope Seraphine can find her way out of this mess.”
“I am very good at what I do, Lady Sharpe. Have no fear.”
Juno almost fell back, startled by both the voice and the fact that they had already found themselves in the cortex chamber; Evelyn must have led them down some shortcut while they bantered, oblivious to their curtailed path. Blinking lights, crowded control panels and holographic weather charts featuring swirling cloud masses took up most of Juno’s vision of the cramped circular chamber.
What really drew her attention, however, was the luminous Lunarian beauty gracefully splayed out by the emerald pool, long fingers drifting along the rippling surface.
Seraphine Harper may have been on the shorter and rounder side, but the moon-fae pilot was every inch an ethereal, elegant emissary from the stars. Her smooth, sky-colored face was dusted with a mottled pattern of white and purple flecks melting into subtly metallic blue skin, her shoulder-length waves of almost crystalline hair alternating between shades of charcoal and amethyst. A gossamer gown of snowy moon-silk draped her curvaceous body head to toe while golden bracelets and rings wound about supple arms and the long, sensuous fingers of her webbed hands. Lips as pleasantly plump as her body curved upwards, black as pitch. Juno had spoken to Amir’s officially designated driver plenty of times before, having often been charmed by the affable alien, but never had they physically met due to her usual choice of liquidy lair.
Damn it, it’s too early to be bewildered by bisexual chaos. Get a move on, Juno…
“Miss Harper! Quite lovely to meet you in the flesh at last.” Juno blushed slightly as Sera’s gaze fixed her to the spot, the pilot swiveling her body around until she’d dipped her legs in the pool, the hem of her gown ballooning outward. “I hear we have both good and bad news on the take-off front at last.”
“Indeed, milady.” The gill-slits along Sera’s graceful neck flared. “Fret not-the only real bad news is that the kitchens are fresh out of black beans for my usual breakfast burritos. A little drizzle around the mystery island’s border will be no problem to one with my gifts. Provided we have no further interruptions to the aether-stream, that is. I do so hate bumpy roads.”
Juno glanced over at the rest of the party as Seraphine plunged entirely below the murky waves, the bevy of younger men hunched over the half-moon railing with its control apparatus. Young Greencross stood ready with Silverthorn by his side and polished helmet in the crook of his arm, in full uniform this time though with the short coat still unclasped. Trey lounged with lithe arms propped up behind his short dark curls, the previous evening’s damp finery replaced with a tight-fit mustard yellow sweater, dusky gray denim trousers and the heavy black leather vest of his Guild. Both seemed as sleepy as she was but determined to remain unfazed.
A second glance revealed a curious creature wriggling about in Trey’s lap, its blue-green scales similar to panes of stained glass. Was that one of the sea-wyverns from back home? When did the little stowaway make its way aboard?
Juno put aside the creature for now, continuing her survey of the ship crew’s status. Eli looked far haler than before, smiling and wide-eyed even, having foregone the ostentatious robes for a thistle-hued turtleneck and black blazer and slacks combo. The impish boy drummed his fingers nervously against the controls, cautiously eager for his next chance to take them aloft. Juno only hoped the best for the young mageling; she knew all too well what it was like to have one’s confidence swept out from underneath you.
Her old friend Amir was somehow both the most relaxed and most tense of the bunch, dark pinstriped trousers and canvas shoes resting on the central panel, interface goggles resting against his poppy red cardigan and light green shirt along with steepled fingers, tweed coat hanging casually from his narrow shoulders. A snow-white Meerschaum pipe’s curling stem sat between clenched teeth, bubbles blowing out of the carved bowl in casual coils, quirky and cucumber-cool as if nothing were wrong. The captain’s dark eyes and tawny face told a different tale, however, fixed and hardened dead ahead as if he were challenging the unseen storm beyond the horizon to a staring contest.
Amir’s gaze broke first, of course, when he realized she’d arrived.
“Juno, my doll, top of the morning! Sorry for the business with the brass brou-ha-ha but I had to get everyone up and about on the double. Leaving won’t be as easy or sudden as the landing, especially with all the interference waiting for us ahead.”
“I only ask that we leave this rock and the oncoming storm behind us with as much speed and safety as you can muster. I expect to be dining at The Chelonian Palace by luncheon.” She patted the pocket bulge on her left, the weight of the jar full of caustic shadow-plasm a constant reminder of their mission. “There is much to discuss.”
“Really? Buckler can’t wait until dinner? ‘Cause Poole was planning on whipping up some garlic-crusted pork ribs today, I know how much you love meat…”
Her stomach did indeed rumble at the thought. Juno had yet to feast on the morning eggs, however, let alone a meal still in progress. Besides, there were far more important things waiting ahead of her and she’d put herself first far too often. She had to be decisive and swift to ensure she took down her quarry.
“Vengeance for Silvergard and my sister is the only dish that concerns me, Amir, whether served cold or otherwise. I thank you for the offer, but I must gain Bronzeharbor’s aid post haste. If you say you are ready to head out, then let Sky-Empress ride the winds again.”
“As you wish, milady. How are things down below, Sera?”
Smooth as butter and far less slippery, my captain. Empress only asks that we are gentler with her this time around.
Eli winced as the ceiling coils glowed and glimmered, the soft, slithery susurrus of the bioship’s organic systems gurgling throughout the cortex chamber as if confirming the pilot’s status update.
“All filters, backlash buffers and systems couplings have been triple-checked and secured, Captain!” Evelyn announced, thumping her fist against her long leathery apron. “We have more than enough power built up in the flame-gizzards that only the induction-spell is needed. Master Nash, if you could be so kind?”
The mageling nodded, closed his eyes, whispered beneath his breath. Eli’s hands trembled over the controls, soft turquoise aura dancing along his slender fingertips. A sudden swift jolt about The Sky-Empress’ structure was the only sign Juno needed that take-off had at last begun. She took her seat immediately, one hand gripping the arm, the other Rugosa’s hilt.
The image of the island outside upon the viewing eye swerved towards the sky, a swooping arc of trees and hills that charged the churning, roiling sensation that had ruled Juno’s insides all morning. The glassy surface of the sea sloshed and shimmered, the white-capped waves and crowning clouds grew vaster in size and scope. Along the horizon’s edge, a bleak, black border of storm clouds stirred and surged.
After the ocean’s wrath comes the calmest kinds of peace.
Juno had heard that expression bandied about for a variety of reasons when growing up in Sterling Keep. The visiting captains of sea and sky had spoken in the literal sense, regaling the court with tales of the monstrous maelstroms they’d fought back against and the prosperity that almost inevitably followed, the horrors they’d faced ultimately worth it for the reward at the end. The servants had taken to using the idiom in regards to her blustery old father and his infamous tirades-only when Lord Tiberius was finally finished his outraged rants would one know the sweetest kind of bliss, the storm over at last.
Would she ever get to feel that sense of respite and release, the kind that could only come when the worst was at long last over? Would the wrath of the ocean of twisted turmoil inside her one day diminish as the storms outside surely had to? Would Juno ever be able to rid herself of the haunting specter of Lavinia’s death?
One step at a time, Juno. We must first endure this tempest, then all the others that are sure to follow. There will be peace and paradise at the end, there has to be.
Peace and quiet had, nonetheless, settled upon the crowded cortex chamber, the eerie, uncanny kind of peace that had come from being caught upon a current with no option left but to ride it. The viewing eye showed the green crescent of the mystery island drifting far away, the storm clouds and choppy seas beyond the still point growing in immensity. Mountains of jagged gray-and-black mist and vapor rose higher and higher as the bioship climbed the heavens.
A bolt of lightning and the sound of thunder made them all jump high. Someone yelped but Juno had no idea who. She was more focused on the color of the crackling stormfire.
For a split second, at the edge of her vision, she was sure the bolt burned blood-red.
“Sera!” Amir yelled, cutting through the thickening atmosphere of anxiety. The bubbles from his pipe swirled all about, popping as the creeping pressure from outside built up. “The storm ahead’s too thick for us to make one single hop through the conduits. Can you pull an Aether-Hop?”
“That could strain Empress’ engines!” Evelyn interjected brusquely. “She could grow queasy and sick beyond my capacity to cure! She is not yet ready for an Aether-Hop!”
“Is this Aether-Hop our only sure way of making it safely through the storm?” Juno cut in, compelled to stand. Another trio of bolts danced through the haze outside, the mystery island gone from sight. “I’d say the risk of an upset belly is lesser than that of a hurricane!”
“Ladies, please! I appreciate the input but it’s my say that ultimately matters!” Amir rubbed at his temples, his expression pinched. The biggest boom of all rocked the ship’s hull, setting Juno’s teeth to chattering. “Sera, you’re the one flying us through this mess, so your voice holds equal weight by my reckoning. What say you?”
Empress does not like this storm, but she also worries about the Aether-Hop. She does not wish to upset Miss Gage or suffer from a belly-ache. If it is the only way ahead, however, then we must endure. So say we both.
“Then that’s the course we take. Miss Harper, initiate Aether-Hop Pattern on my mark-”
“Would someone mind explaining what this Hop of yours actually is?!” Trey shouted, wide eyes wincing shut as another bolt of lightning cascaded by outside. His foundling sea wyvern screeched its little lungs out, flapped its wings incessantly.
“Easier to experience than explain, Dragon Boy! Someone might want to grab a few air sickness bags and a mop for Miss Summerfield, I’ll say that much. Now, where was I?” Amir snapped his fingers. “Right. One Aether-Hop, fast and fabulous. Mark!”
Preparing for Aether-Hop, Sera announced to the crew. Hold onto your arses!
The second she spoke, the bioship lurched forward as if a giant invisible hand had plucked it from the black briar patch of stormheads. The floating, drifting sensation of tumbling about both fierce air currents and flickering leyline particles erupted into a full-blown cavalcade of light and sound. Mist and fog burned bright, streams of silver spears prickled at the edge of her mind, the world warped into a web of white fire.
Juno’s breath caught as the Aether stream surged and seared-
Then they were among the clouds again, spiraling and struggling to swim against the wall of crackling darkness. Juno almost fell from her seat, clinging to the control railing, ready to shout as a bright purple burst charged towards them-
The invisible hand grabbed them once more, flinging them across the sky. Silver-white lances and prismatic pulses hammered at Juno’s eyesight, bursts of bombastic bass pounded at her temples, an effects extravaganza that would’ve left her technical crew speechless.
Juno tried gasping for air, but her lungs were compressed by the powerful pressure-
The ship shuddered back to reality, punched in the gut by the jolt of both aetheric fire and the tangled lashes of lightning clashing and crashing about. Bumps were raised all along Juno’s skin, her throat was dry and her joints flared up, her battered eyes a near-blind mess of tears. She could make out the heart of the storm ahead, fiery and radiant amid the belly of the black void; beneath her feet, the rising tides of the swelling sea made themselves felt even though they surged thousands of feet below the bioship.
“Please tell me we’re done-”
Juno couldn’t even complete her croaking complaint. Sera had pushed them through yet another short, startling hop, dodging the worst of the storm by punching through the thick barriers of pressure and moisture and shifting along the gaps, skirting the edge of the hazy hellscape.
A good, clear sky meant a quick and continuous path through the leyline web. A storm meant having your heart ready to pound its way through your ribcage every few seconds, your mind and soul pulverized to jelly.
After the fourth or fifth such hop, Juno lost count how many times they phased in and out of reality. She tried focusing her frazzled thoughts not on the nausea-inducing storm they had yet to tumble out of but on memories of her time in Argenthall. The bright gardens and beautiful statues, the tapestries and wood-paneled halls, the friendly faces of the Palecliffe staff that helped her transform the empty estate into a living, breathing home.
She hoped that, after this particularly wrathful ocean they sailed across, The Goddesses would allow her the calmest and kindest peace one could ever hope for.
At some point, Juno realized the violent pressure and dance of thunder and lightning had grown too much to handle. She had passed once more into the bliss of oblivious sleep, as had several others of her fledgling party. The fact that she could feel again, could taste and smell the air without being stretched to her physical limits, meant the dreadful jumping around was over. She opened her eyes, sat up slowly.
In place of storm-clouds, there stood a vast and beautiful shining city, the largest in The Westerwyndes. Teeming towers of glass and stone, domes of brass, bronze, gold and green. Cathedrals and castles overlooking crowded plazas, sky-skimmers darting about the spires. Wide white-cobbled streets and stretches of beautiful green park between blocks of red brick and weathered brownstone, the puffy treetops swishing about in the breeze. Along the harbor’s edge, sailing vessels and airships of every kind moved betwixt berth and docks, laden with countless goods and passengers for a myriad of markets.
Rising high above the slate-blue water and the dockside promenades with their multi-colored beacons was a sight that almost made Juno weep to see it. The tallest light house in The Aelossian Sea (barring The Holy Torch of Omnecath), The Ivory Staff was a beautiful blade of white stone and silver scales, plates of sapphire blue glass flecking the frieze-carved carapace like chips of sapphire. A sphere of silver fire sat atop the tower’s crown, a brilliant beacon of eternal flame almost as old as Bronzeharbor itself.
Juno had never more needed a guiding light to show her the path ahead. She only hoped The Ivory Staff and its master served her as well as they did the thousands of merchants who sought this isle’s shore every day, that here she could find the peace she so desperately sought.
Throat sore and voice trembling, Juno spoke aloud her desired course.
“Captain Khaled and Miss Harper, if you could be so good as to alert The Ivory Staff and Lord Buckler of our presence, we can press forward our way into Bronzeharbor. All Silvergard ships are bound to the Chalcedon Docks and I see no reason why we should not do the same. Set your landing for the jade lights of the House Sharpe ducal port and give the harbormaster your full cooperation; I will handle all matters of coin and carriage to the capitol center. From here on out, leave the matters of our pursuit to me.”
A pause fell upon the frazzled chamber before Amir assented, again snapping his fingers.
“You heard the lady. Make your way to The Mark of The Green.”
The Heralds of Blood: Chapter Twenty: The Blood-Dimmed Tide
Greetings to my fellow writeblrs, followers and readers! Time for the weekly posting of my newest rough draft chapter for my current WIP, The Heralds of Blood, what I hope would be the first book in a series I'm planning called The Remnants Of The Goddess War.
The response to the project has been overwhelmingly positive and supportive, thanks so much to everyone for the reblogs, likes, replies, asks and other forms of support! I have been having more fun with this project than anything I've written in a long while and hope to keep it going. As of this posting, I have finished up through Chapter Twenty-One and started work on Chapter Twenty-Two as well as the next stage of the outline, outlined through Chapter Forty-Seven and will try working on supplementary material in the near future! Having the weekly posting deadline helps a lot to keep me motivated/give me time to finish what I need!
Links to the prologue and previous chapters can be found on the pinned post at the top of my blog (there are starting to be too many to put in each post so go there if you wish to start the story). I have also started adding supplementary material to the pinned post to better understand the story and the world-so far I've published a post about Leylines, Magic and Mages and the Character Profiles (Parts One, Two and Three). I hope to have a post about the Geography of Retha up in the near future as the story will eventually move from its initial setting (been working on that, too, so hopefully that will be ready within the next month or so). I am currently also working on a backstory on The Seven Goddesses and a Brief World History/Timeline. I also have a masterlist of Character Spotlights/Moodboards on my blog's pinned post. Maps may be a while-if anyone could link me to a decent (and free) fantasy map generator, I'd be grateful!
I will be tagging anyone I think is interested in reading the story, please let me know in replies/messages if you wish to be added or removed: @houndsofcorduff, @bardic-tales, @nightmaricwriter, @dontpokethekitty, @510amy5, @talesfromaurea, @firesidefantasy, @detectivepetrichor, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @alcego, @aalinaaaaaa, @satohqbanana, @thalion71, @dragomango, @writingamongther0ses, @dyrewrites, @my-cursed-prince, @lordkingsmith, @asher-writes and @memento-morri-writes. Also adding other and newer followers I think may be interested-@a-forlorn-crow, @ieppiq, @willtheweaver, @bi-focal12, @writingingraves, @lyssq, @placeholdername9342, @alternativeforensicscientist, @niqhteyes, @pluttskutt and @keeping-writing-frosty -Again, if you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!
If you're new to my blog/my story, please go check out the Pinned Post and start from the Prologue and then through the first 19 chapters, getting really involved with the story by this point so it'll be harder to follow!
Again, comments, likes, reblogs, replies and messages are always welcome!
And now, beneath the read-more: Chapter Twenty: The Blood-Dimmed Tide:
CHAPTER TWENTY:
THE BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE:
“Here fishy fishy, come to Trey, I’ve got a nice shiny surprise for you…”
The ocean was surprisingly warm as the waves pooled around Trey’s feet, the soft hush of gently roiling water all around as the tide built up the further out he went. The moons bright overhead showed him the path to the true treasures of the sea: a shoal of fat, filigree fish swimming close to shore, curious about the newcomer in their midst.
Fast as a whip, the shaft of silver swung through the glassy green crest, foam splashing him in the face.
“That’s Number Twelve!” Trey crowed gleefully, spearing the fattest fish of the night with his trident. Flipping the haft around so the prongs pointed upwards, salt spray and a stream of scarlet dribbles dripping away, he waded back to shore to place the floppy prize with the others in the canvas sack Jackson had loaned him. Beside the piscine pile sat the majority of Trey’s clothes, wrapped in the dusky red coat and placed upon a towel with his shoes.
Fish secured, Trey stood up and wiped off the water and sweat drenching his face and limbs. Though it was a cool spring evening and he’d dressed down to his flimsy white tank-top and black-and-red striped boxer-briefs, Trey had worked himself hard enough to where he was as warm as he would be sitting by the tantalizing bonfire up shore. Hunting down even these plump, placid beauties was quite the work-out.
“One more should do it, right?” No one was around, so Trey answered himself for himself with a half-assed salute. “Yes, sir, Mr. Baxter, sir. One fish of the day, coming right up!”
A shrill cry from behind him alerted Trey to the fact that he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Startled, he assumed a fighting stance, body hunched and limbs poised to either hold his ground or run, trident held in a position to where he could both fight and block at the same time. He lowered his guard and grinned when he saw the crying’s source.
“Hey there, little fella! Did you follow us all the way out here?”
The glass-scaled sea wyvern from Lady Juno’s house sat upon a craggy knob of weathered stone, wings flapping and teeth bared as it hissed and keened. Somehow, the hungry hatchling had found its way to the mystery island along with the rest of the party. Trey’s guess was it had simply followed the scent of their food down-wind to the aero-hub and stowed away unwittingly, rather than following by any clever or thought-out means. Even the brightest wyverns were usually dumb as rocks, unlike their majestic and massive cousins; the chicken-sized creatures were usually raised for their smoky meat and their leathery hide.
Of course, sea wyverns were an altogether different breed. Monks and priestesses in The Outer Isles often trained them to act like messenger pigeons, so Eli had said, and Trey had once seen an old seadog down by the city docks teach his pet wyvern to talk like a parrot (he was fairly certain the man was a real-life pirate, too). And this little guy with the semi-translucent flesh was of a type Trey had never seen before, perhaps even a further step beyond his kin.
If the Bestiary-Masters from Silvergard were here, then Trey would gladly have spent all night pestering them with questions like he had as a kid. But they were hundreds of miles away, so there was no use standing around, drenched and useless.
“Here, you get a treat. Then you return with me to The Empress when I’m done. Deal?”
The sea wyvern snapped its jaws and screeched excitedly, slitted jewel-toned eyes bright with anticipation. Trey chuckled and reached for the most recently caught fish, figuring his new friend would prefer the taste of a fresh catch. He tossed the slippery treat into the air and the wyvern lunged in a swift, slick slithering motion of scales and claws. A tiny torrent of jade green flame roasted the shining flesh, fangs tearing out hunks of raw meat.
“You enjoy yourself, buddy. I’ll be ready to go soon as I catch another prize!” Trey supposed he should snag two fish, really, now he’d given one away.
While wading waist-high in the warm waves, swirls of red motes still drifting amid the foam, Trey looked at the shore to find the wyvern staring back at him, shimmering wings spread wide. Seeing the little rapscallion enjoy his food so much made Trey’s heart melt; he wished he could reach out to his own dragons in that moment, show them what he’d found, but the mental part of his bond had faded upon leaving Silvergard behind. There was no way he could contact them this far away from home.
Who told you that? I can hear you just fine!
Startled yet again, Trey almost dropped his trident in the ocean. The fish scattered away, only to return moments later, somehow even dumber than rocks.
Walburga?! Is that you!
Last time I checked, yes. I’m not in the habit of donning other personas. My unruly offspring is here as well, hording all the lamb the other humans brought us with the sunset. I shall have to teach him some respect.
Yeah, that sounds like Baldy all right. Trey tried focusing inwards, flexing his mind’s eye. He was still unused to this third connection. Llewelyn, are you there, too, you old scoundrel?
Hello there, new human! Why, yes, I’m here. They brought us gray-scales chicken tonight! I have a weakness for chicken, you know, especially when extra-crispy.
Glad to know my fellow Wyrm-Binders have laid out a fine feast for all of you! Now that the food-related pleasantries were out of the way, which of course was what the dragons always focused on first, it was time to cut to the real meat of the issue. Can someone please explain how you’re all hearing this? ‘Cause I’m fairly certain we shouldn’t be able to speak with this much distance between us. I can still feel your spirit pulse but not your mind! This shouldn’t be happening.
A larger wave than the last several crested and crashed nearby, disturbing Trey’s concentration. He speared the pair of fish he’d come back out for, then waded onto the shore while trying to re-establish his connection.
Ah, there you are, you wily hatchling! Got your brain, heh heh! Llewelyn’s thoughts somehow always sounded like Trey’s favorite grandpa, from Mom’s side of the family. Anyhow, you ask how we can speak when so far away, the answer lies right in front of you.
Trey had reached the shore and the glassy sea wyvern scuttled over to greet him, screeching for more fish amid the kelp strands and stray shells. Odd patterns of aquamarine light rippled across the little guy’s crystalline wings, almost like a leyline pulse.
What, is this sea wyvern some sort of psychic amplifier or something?
Got it in one! The Mindsingers used to be quite commonly shared among your Guild, so I recall my own grandfather telling me. But they are not easily tamed and few in number and all sorts of knowledge becomes lost with time, yes. They were always too useful to fall out of fashion, if you ask me, but no one cares what us old beasts think most days…
Well, I care. Thank you for telling me, old man.
Trey crouched down low and let the wyvern climb up his arm and onto his shoulder, laughing as his tiny snout brushed up against his moistened skin. He may have struggled with his dragon-bonding abilities in the past, but Trey had always had a way with wyverns, the low-level background hum of their primitive minds easy to move, push and coax. And this Mindsinger, if that was truly what the creature was, seemed awfully fond of him already. Trey would have to see if he stuck around for the long haul, think up a good name if he did.
The two of them looked out at the water, the tide slowly growing stronger. The streams of blood left over from his earlier fish massacre had spread across the waves, an array of ink-like plumes almost fanned out like the dark red hair of a woman floating serenely across the surface.
A woman like the striga…
The visions from the Memory-Stone flickered away again, as real as if he stood upon the shores of Mirrorwhite Lake once more. Trey staggered, stumbled down onto the soft, wet shore, gasping for breath. The trident fell by his side with a solid thump.
Flashes of red fury consumed his mind, the screaming woman dissolving into darkness, the soul of scarlet flame and shadow-plasm given over to chaos, corruption and cruelty, claws of pale shadow digging into his flesh, the skulls of the catacombs grinning, the whole world drowning amid the blood-dimmed tide…
The sea wyvern screeched so loud Trey thought his ears would bleed as well.
ENOUGH! cried Walburga’s booming brain, exploding with radiant rage like a supernova. Trey, you MUST find the Elder Dragons, and soon! The dream you had about The Hidden Horde of Haedreahl that you told me about before your flight, have you had it again?
Not yet, no. Trey was curled up in the fetal position, not caring at all about the sand caking his face and side. Why, do you think the dreams are real? That they’ll keep happening?
If the Memory-Stone still burns in your mind, then yes. It’s magic fused with your flesh, opening your mind to wonders and horrors beyond count. The Elder Dragons will wish to see what you have uncovered; they will wish to help you understand, so the enemy may finally fall. It is the only way to free yourself of the Red Shadow’s moment of dying and the curse that comes with it! The only way to know their desires and intentions!
Trey wept from the pain but once he grew numb enough, he pushed himself back up. He had a long road ahead and would have to get used to this sort of intense, brain-curdling shit.
Think happy thoughts, Trey told himself. Like how you’re about to have a delicious seafood supper! All your friends will be there and so will a hot noblewoman and a bunch of complete strangers who don’t seem all that bad!
Yes, Trey, do not give into despair. We are with you wherever you go. The creatures of the shadow-world may be strong, but we are stronger!
The sea wyvern cried and crooned its shrill song beside him, urging Trey to rise.
Ten minutes later, Trey was back on his feet, salt, sea and sand wiped away, trousers pulled back on, the remaining clothes and shoes slung over his shoulder alongside his trident. His new friend perched atop the canvas bag of freshly-caught fish as if he rode a parade float, the wyvern spreading his wings wide. The bonfire grew near, roaring and red-gold.
The blood-dimmed tide was left far behind, washed away into the night. For now.
Jackson the chef embraced Trey like a brother when he returned, wrinkling his nose a little at the fishy smells and wiping away the damp. While he moved Trey’s catch to his makeshift prep station, Carmen flew forth to wrap a heavy towel about his shoulders, hugging and smacking him in turn. Eli looked miles better than he had earlier, intrigued by the sea wyvern’s unexpected presence, though still solemn and sickly from his earlier breakdown.
Trey was surprised to find Ian gone, the last one he’d expect to have wandered off.
“Young Greencross is out fetching us some more wood,” Lady Juno explained, as if she, too, could read his mind. “I like that young man, very determined to be of help. You are lucky to have him as a friend. As I am lucky to have him in my service.”
“He is very dependable, our Ian,” Carmen agreed. “When his head is screwed on straight and he isn’t distracted by something shiny and new. He has been gone so long, I worry he has let that damnable curiosity of his get the better of him.”
“One can’t help when the heart overrules the head, even among the most straight-laced folks,” Lady Juno sighed, smoothing her cloak as a light sea breeze rippled the black velvet. “I am sure he will return to us intact, like Master Baxter here. You all seem quite hardy youths.”
“This island may be an elusive mystery-box but so far, it’s held little danger that my peepers can capture,” Amir chimed in, waving about the goggles strung ‘round his neck. “The little garden battle we all scraped by from shows Sir Gingersnap’s not that easy to bump off.”
Silence soon fell over the bonfire party, first a pleasant sort of calm, then a growing edge of anxiety as Ian continued taking his time. Jackson deftly plucked bones from each of the fish before grilling, the sea wyvern snapping playfully at his heels. Lady Juno and Amir swapped silly stories with everyone as small-talk, laughing over places, people and events Trey had never heard of. He didn’t mind, though; anything to keep his thoughts away from the bloody horror they’d unleashed upon the world.
Carmen, of course, pestered him endlessly, worried he’d caught a cold from the ocean and damp clothes. Trey appreciated the concern but swatted her away, wary of the fact that she always put others first even when she clearly wasn’t fine herself. He admired that about her but there were times when self-care was necessary, and she still swayed with every step. When he asked her the same fussy questions, Carmen clammed up so fast she might as well have been on the menu.
Besides, she’d had her own funny vision she wouldn’t talk about back in Ironleaf Wood, so Trey had a right to his own silence until he was ready to talk. Hell, for all he knew, Ian was returning with a brand-new messed-up set of visions rendering him a wobbly wreck. They could form some sort of trauma club.
There are many wonderous and terrible sights to be found along the paths of the moons, Walburga told him. Such sights remind us of our true nature when we think ourselves mighty and beyond reproach. You are small and only human, the world is vast and impossible to fully know. You are not a god, to create such sights and know all their names, but this means your life and theirs are precious and worth fighting for. Take heart from that if nothing else.
Thanks, I will. Some profound words you have there. Hope they fed you extra tonight.
They did. Walburga’s mind-speech was rich with rough chuckles. And yet, I still hunger.
As did Trey. Luckily, the food was soon after pronounced ready, the scent of woodsmoke, tangy sauce and grilled fish overwhelming every sense. Warmth had returned to Trey’s muscles, tension released at last. He staggered to his full height, ready to grab grub for himself and Eli, when a rustling from the nearby underbrush caught his attention.
Ian stumbled towards the crew with a ton of sticks and branches clutched to his chest, his short uniform coat disheveled and nearly shrugged off his shoulders. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, like a deer caught in a low-flying skimmer’s beacon-lights. Everyone and everything came to a halt once he stepped into their little semi-circle ‘round the fire.
“We need to leave this island. Now.” Ian’s belly rumbled loud enough they could’ve heard it out in space. “Fine, after we eat. But then we need to get the hell out of here!”
“Ian, what’s wrong? What happened out there-”
Their friend spoke without preamble, cold and serious as the steel in his hand.
“I think I’ve just made contact with a goddess. And you’ll never guess which one...”
The Heralds of Blood: Chapter Nineteen: The Hollows of Time
Greetings to my fellow writeblrs, followers and readers! Time for the weekly posting of my newest rough draft chapter for my current WIP, The Heralds of Blood, what I hope would be the first book in a series I'm planning called The Remnants Of The Goddess War.
The response to the project has been overwhelmingly positive and supportive, thanks so much to everyone for the reblogs, likes, replies, asks and other forms of support! I have been having more fun with this project than anything I've written in a long while and hope to keep it going. As of this posting, I have finished up through Chapter Twenty and started work on Chapter Twenty-One as well as the next stage of the outline, outlined through Chapter Forty-Seven and will try working on supplementary material in the near future! Having the weekly posting deadline helps a lot to keep me motivated/give me time to finish what I need!
Links to the prologue and previous chapters can be found on the pinned post at the top of my blog (there are starting to be too many to put in each post so go there if you wish to start the story). I have also started adding supplementary material to the pinned post to better understand the story and the world-so far I've published a post about Leylines, Magic and Mages and the Character Profiles (Parts One, Two and Three). I hope to have a post about the Geography of Retha up in the near future as the story will eventually move from its initial setting (been working on that, too, so hopefully that will be ready within the next month or so). I am currently also working on a backstory on The Seven Goddesses and a Brief World History/Timeline. I also have a masterlist of Character Spotlights/Moodboards on my blog's pinned post. Maps may be a while-if anyone could link me to a decent (and free) fantasy map generator, I'd be grateful!
I will be tagging anyone I think is interested in reading the story, please let me know in replies/messages if you wish to be added or removed: @houndsofcorduff, @bardic-tales, @nightmaricwriter, @dontpokethekitty, @510amy5, @talesfromaurea, @firesidefantasy, @detectivepetrichor, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @alcego, @aalinaaaaaa, @satohqbanana, @thalion71, @dragomango, @writingamongther0ses, @dyrewrites, @my-cursed-prince, @lordkingsmith, @asher-writes and @memento-morri-writes. Also adding other and newer followers I think may be interested-@a-forlorn-crow, @ieppiq, @willtheweaver, @bi-focal12, @writingingraves, @lyssq, @placeholdername9342, @alternativeforensicscientist, @niqhteyes, @pluttskutt and @keeping-writing-frosty -Again, if you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!
If you're new to my blog/my story, please go check out the Pinned Post and start from the Prologue and then through the first 18 chapters, getting really involved with the story by this point so it'll be harder to follow!
Again, comments, likes, reblogs, replies and messages are always welcome!
This chapter is about twice as long as usual and full of trippy visuals and important foreshadowing details so heads up!
Posting this a bit early due to various weekend chores tomorrow.
And now beneath the read-more, Chapter Nineteen: The Hollows of Time:
CHAPTER NINETEEN:
THE HOLLOWS OF TIME
“Blessed Ultima,” Ian whispered, praying out loud for the first time in a good while, long tongues of flame before him dancing up towards the stars, “please protect them all, even when I cannot. I never ask for anything from you, not even a word from my father and mother. But this of you I beg, please, even if I don’t deserve it.”
The bonfire burned bright as dragon’s breath, streams of sparks erupting into the purplish-gray bruise of a sky. Ian backed away from as a charred cinder shot out like a comet, almost as if chastising him for standing too close. The earlier chaos having settled and his eyes free of smoke, Ian could at last take full stock of their situation.
White sand stretched away far into the empty night, spiny shells and sea-smoothed rocks shining along the sloping strand beneath grassy hilltop hummocks. Smoke and scattered small-talk drifted upwards beside the roaring red flames as the hodgepodge crew of The Sky-Empress relaxed upon the mystery island’s shore, the beached bioship’s shadow looming large. Gurgling, grinding noises from within the belly of the beast served as status updates on Evelyn and Seraphine’s progress with repairs.
“You all right, Sir Gingersnap?” shouted the weird and wily captain, bandy legs sprawled out from a long, crooked beam of driftwood thrusting out of the sand. “Too hot for you?”
“Just a stray spark, nothing nasty to fret about! And please don’t call me that!”
Amir Khaled chuckled, tugging his tweed coat tight about his wiry frame despite the roaring blaze. Earlier, the oddball merchant-trader had busily rushed along the twisted alien decks of The Empress, reading instruments and barking out figures, until Miss Gage had tossed him out with a slew of disgruntled Hanschuline curses. Now he kept his old friend, Lady Juno, company while the ship’s scruffy odd-jobs man rustled up a batch of grill-side grub for everyone.
“Right, so who asked for the spicy sausage-and-shrimp skewers?” Jackson called out from his perch by the raging mini-inferno, set halfway between ocean and grass. “I added my best black devil-seed sauce to these fiery little bastards so watch out! You’re gonna want some nice cold milk if you’re aiming to keep your tongue!
The flickering firelight gleamed golden against the chef’s coppery brown skin and baggy orange shirt, hissing embers rendering his features like a flame-ghoul from a winter pantomime. Lady Juno was surprisingly the one who’d asked for the fiendishly sauced fare, eyes aglow as Jackson dashed over with plates and bowls for the hungry crew. A bulky cool-state cube was left standing by the tiny lifeboat they’d used to reach the shore, brimming with ingredients, spices, sauces and soft drinks.
“I’ll have a cream soda, please and thanks!” Eli piped up, the first words he’d spoken in his earlier breakdown’s aftermath. He huddled beside Carmen, who looked the sicklier of the pair after The Empress’ tumultuous tumble. “Or a vanilla Elixir, if you only keep name-brands.”
“I stock up on whatever these mitts can grab from the harborside commissary!”
Jackson scuttled towards the cool-state cube, tiny ruddy crabs dancing by his sandaled feet. Over on their driftwood settee, Lady Juno and Amir fanned their faces while taking the first bites of their grilled meat, quickly chiming in their requests for chilled refreshments. Ian tapped his left foot impatiently against the sand, unsure what he wanted.
“Hey, who’s up for a game of catch?! Think fast! Zing!”
A trio of silver cylinders flew up high, Jackson tossing them around like a drunken juggler, flinging the drinks around in swooping circles before sending them out in spinning arcs. Juno actually caught hers in mid-air, while Amir dove into the sand and Eli unleashed a small, swirling torrent of glowing wind to capture his. The young mage’s fine-boned features sagged into a sulky frown as it appeared he got neither of his requested flavors, instead receiving a Diet Cherry Elixir. Too tart for Eli’s sweet-tooth.
“Gonna slap some fish on the grill-pan here once Trey returns from down-shore. Provided your friend doesn’t char them all with dragon-breath first.”
Ian’s belly rumbled. Grilled fish was just the thing to take his mind off the myriads of meandering worries weighing him down. Flaky cod or peppery tuna steak. Maybe with some glazed onions or roast potatoes on the side, if the cool-state cube held any.
Jackson poked the charred, crumbling logs of the bonfire with a claw-like stick. “May not seem like it now but those flames could die out faster than my career as a flare bartender did. Ian, my brand-new buddy and brother, a century of gratitude if you could fetch us more wood. Big beanpole like you should be able to fetch a mighty large bundle!”
Ordinarily, Ian would’ve suggested they simply use Eli to stoke the flames further, his magic clearly stabilized enough to where his usual wind spells were available. However, his pale-faced friend had already been through enough in recent days. Besides, he was a person, not a tool or a battery. He needed time to cool down, feel human again.
“I’ll bring back as much as I can carry and then some,” Ian replied, smiling. He hadn’t spent much time with the crew of his new patron’s commandeered vessel but so far, he liked this Jackson Poole, friendly fellow food enthusiast that he was. “If Trey returns first, save the biggest, tastiest fish for me.”
“You shouldn’t go out in those woods alone,” Carmen chided in her usual sisterly tone, amber eyes gleaming. A short string of Elsetierri curses followed as she stood, wobbling on the uneven sand. “Heading out there when we know nothing of this island is risky. I should know, given my own recent experiences.”
“Just because one vehicle crash led to a moment of weird woodland mysticism doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. And unlike you, I’ve got Silverthorn should trouble arise.” Ian gripped tight the shining rose blossom hilt of his new spell-blade, grateful to Lady Juno for the gift. “Thank you for your concern as always, Carmen. I’ll keep to the treeline and no further.”
“Do keep safe, young Greencross,” chimed in his new patron, clutching her sable cloak tight. “We’ll garrison the fort while you quest about for kindling. I hold my own quite well in a crisis, you know.”
Ian had no idea how long she’d hold his oath for, but he suspected service to Her Grace could work out well in the long-term. Provided Lady Juno considered his other duties & demands, of course, the higher calling to which he’d sworn himself.
“So I’ve seen. Worry not, milady, I’ll be back with enough wood to build an actual fort should we need it.” Ian gave the Ducal Regent a formal bow, slightly awkward given his unclasped coat and lack of helm, then turned about.
Before Carmen sat back down, he whispered to her, “Look after Eli for me.”
“Of course, goes without saying,” Carmen whispered back, smiling gently.
Eli’s watery eyes tracked the pair as they parted. He said nothing, still rattled and ragged.
As Ian trudged towards the tree-line, whistling one of Melissa’s favorite flying tunes, he heard Lady Juno laughing at Amir’s babbling, Carmen trying to coax Eli into conversing with the group while he fiddled with that dark crystal of his. Jackson let out a full-throated giddy yelp as he barely escaped a fluctuating plume of stray flame, skin nearly singed extra-crispy.
Between melancholy, mourning and the murderous monster they chased, it was a wonder any of them felt a semblance of normality. The weight on Ian’s heart lessened from witnessing the scene, smiling truly for what felt the first time in ages.
The weight on his shoulders and arms, however, grew as Ian’s path took him past the hummocks and into the brambly underbrush at the forest’s edge. Long, knobbly branches, short, squat sticks, cracked pieces of bark flecked with fuzzy lichen, he grabbed whatever he found.
“A shame we don’t have time to properly scope this island out,” Ian muttered to himself, wiping his sweaty brow with the hem of his olive-green shirt. He juggled the growing load about his arms, cursing as the largest branch slid down into the knee-high greenery. “Few uncharted isles left to find these days, and most are barren rocks. Mom and Dad would’ve loved this place.”
Ian wasn’t sure whether to sigh in nostalgic reminiscence or wince at the thought of his parents gallivanting about in search of lost treasure, excited explorers wherever they went. Including the wild blue yonder from which they’d yet to return, he supposed. The family pendant in his pocket weighed heavier than the wooden pile, its mass derived as much from muddled memories as it was from silver and emeralds.
A few minutes later, Ian set the bundle down, eager to get his bearings. He’d made promises to Carmen, but as usual when Ian found himself near a mysterious stretch of forest, his feet had followed their own path. And the trees had marched alongside him.
Tiny specks of bonfire light still shone on the horizon, almost the ghost of an image, a glinting speck in the corner of his eye. The barest of beacons beckoning him home.
“As long as this wood remains monster-free, I should be all set.” Ian spoke aloud to reassure himself as much as he did to cut through the eerie quiet, free of flies, frogs or crickets.
The mystery island had proven devoid of feral fauna as well so far, unlike the woods beyond Silvergard’s walls. Gryphons still sometimes made their nests deep in the old forest, as Ian and Eli had discovered the winter he’d turned thirteen, forced to hide beneath a jagged rock-shelf while the snow grew higher and their breath transmuted to frosty mist. And lesser basilisks liked to keep to the murky waters of Mirrorwhite Lake’s opposite shores, their caustic breath as deadly to the castle’s clutches of dragons as it was to the lake-eels and wild wyverns upon which they’d fed. Ian and Hugo had slain their fair share during camping trips and training exercises with Paladin Rook, more than he could recall.
Ian pulled his spell-sword from its sheath, dispelling the misty memories like mosquitoes buzzing about his forehead. While he may have chased away the gryphon and slaughtered a few basilisks, it was Eli who’d saved them both with his fire magic beating back the blizzard, it was Hugo who’d killed the first beast they’d faced while Ian panicked.
He’d failed both his friends time and again, so why was he taking a merry stroll down the wrong side of memory lane? Too long away from the others; he dismissed the thoughts.
“Awake, Radiant Haze!” Ian commanded and Silverthorn obeyed. The blue briar-vines etched into the blade’s vorpal steel flared to life, a golden aura illuminating the twisted woods.
His eyes quickly adjusted, enough that Ian instantly knew he’d gone too far. The terrain sloped up towards the central mountain peak, boulders and rubble amid the dense tapestry of oak, cedar and bronzewood. Satisfied he’d reached his journey’s end, Ian stretched until his shirt rode up to expose his belly, then bent down to retrieve his plunder.
And at that exact moment, a shimmering sprite of electric blue sparks fluttered out sideways from the bristling branches, humming like crystal chimes.
“Of all the damn things,” Ian breathed. “What the hell’s a will-o-the-wisp doing here?! I thought you little bastards went extinct!”
The flitting flicker of fairy-light twisted through the eaves, aimless as a butterfly and just as captivating. Ian fumbled about his pockets for his vision-crystal, but it seemed he’d left the device behind. The will-o-the wisp dazzled before him like a luminous fishing lure, then darted away in a flash.
“Hey! Get back here!” Desperate not to lose track of a creature thought dead by bestiary-masters for at least two centuries, Ian clutched both his sword and as much wood as he could hold against his chest while awkwardly chasing the sprite down. “Wait up!”
There was luckily little bracken dotting this section of forest floor, Ian’s big, booted feet stumbling around a few jagged sticks, stones and the odd cluster of colorful mushrooms. The will-o-the-wisp whistled and chirped as it led Ian further and further into the dark heart of the forest. Only the largest pieces of kindling remained clutched by his aching arms.
Carmen’s going to kill me, Ian mused while leaping over a mossy log, too short of breath to speak aloud. He pushed away all thoughts of the crew’s fireside revels, his belly groaning from the imagined meal it was missing.
At some point, the trees grew denser and denser before abruptly stopping altogether, a head-high hedge of thorny brambles and rambling roots woven together into a crooked hollow surrounding him. Stooping as he ran, Ian wondered why he felt like he was being swallowed alive rather than pushing through an oddball tunnel made by nature.
Why am I still chasing after this stupid thing? Ian, you reckless, ridiculous fool!
Having dipped into hollows made from brambles and roots before, Ian had expected to find himself back in the open air fairly quickly. That reality did not manifest at all, though, the curling coils of wood growing tighter and thornier as he chased the glowing sprite. Worry didn’t truly start to set into Ian’s bones and brain, however, until the tangled tendrils and trunks were woven into walls of hard-packed earth, musty with moldering musk. The sloping, slanted sides of stony soil soon surrounded him, only the occasional root or vine snaking through the dirt. At some point, time lost all meaning in the tunnel.
“Why…won’t…you…hold still…” Ian panted, on the edge of giving up altogether. His back was sore, his legs ached, only years of endurance training allowed him to keep going. It wasn’t like he could record the damn thing, so why bother tracking it down?
You have an explorer’s heart, just like us. Curiosity and questioning flow in your veins. Words his mother used to tell him as a little boy, whenever their quirky little airship had found somewhere new to land. You weren’t meant to stand still and watch while the world moves by.
Yeah, tell that to Mistress Rook when she assigns me guard duty for six hours straight.
The mother of his memories didn’t respond, of course. Just like his real mother.
Breathless and berating himself for abandoning his gathered goods, Ian was about to turn back when he caught a different glimmer up ahead, crimson instead of the sprite’s wintry blue.
“No, it couldn’t be. There’s no way I’ve come this far …”
Ian had not only come out on the other side of the tunnel, he’d found himself at the heart of the mystery island itself.
The triple moons shone bright overhead, revealing the central mountain to be a vast bowl of a craggy-edged crater, aglow with a soft blue haze from Nexa. The woods continued across the crater’s downward slopes, thinning out at the center. The will-o-the wisp darted and drew a shimmering path towards that nexus point, so Ian followed, too stubborn to quit now.
The path downhill was easier to clear than the previous stretch of the chase, allowing Ian to catch his breath. He swished at vines and fronds with Silverthorn, golden against the azure ambience, wary of the crater potentially holding all the monsters the outer forest lacked. The will-o-the-wisp twisted, turned and teased, chittering away without a care in the world.
“If Melissa were here, she’d capture you in a jar and shake it endlessly,” Ian grunted.
Thinking of his girlfriend was both pleasant and depressing in turns, given their abrupt parting. She’d insisted he return to Silvergard as expected, he’d insisted on keeping the oath to Lady Sharpe. A promise to a loved one should have come first, as eight years of ceaseless waiting had impressed upon him, but Ian had never actually spoken aloud such words to Melissa whereas he had to Lady Juno, who was his patron after all.
Her sister’s dying words also ate away at him, as had Hugo’s lifeless eyes. He couldn’t ignore them, he just couldn’t.
Melissa forgave him at the end, but he still felt guilty over the turn of events. He’d never expected Juno to hold him close like this, for the hunt to commence straight away, to be stuck here chasing fanciful fae-lights in the alien night.
And yet here you are. Wherever you end up, you might as well make the best of it.
The blue haze grew stronger, the trees thinner. Hopeful the sprite would stop at last, Ian pushed forward in one last burst, sprinting past the clusters of trees and thickets ahead.
What Ian found beyond took all but the last remaining bit of his breath away.
A jumble of ruins stood at the crater’s heart, cracked columns and crumbling pillars of pale white stone looming high, blocks of light blue marble riddled with green veins. Steep, sweeping steps led up to a wide dais beneath sprawling, broken arches and an empty evening sky, a shrine fashioned in a very ancient Aetholean style. Something dark and amorphous sat at the center of the fallen temple, the one thing not touched by the breathtaking radiance. Overwhelmed, Ian gasped.
Where before there had been one will-o-the-wisp, there were now hundreds, all alight.
“Which goddess claimed this place?” Ian whispered, careful to be reverential as he climbed the steps. Dozens of sprites whistled by, a nebulous blue glow-cloud rippling with tiny shrill murmurs. “Does one claim it still? An Elder Spirit or a child of The Godling Court?”
The will-o-the-wisps did not answer, merely content to swim about the starry sky.
Determined to gain something out of his side-quest, Ian finished his march up the steps, bypassed the broken remains, and held his glowing sword straight ahead of him so his was the guiding light. The shadows withdrew and so did the sprites, until only the temple core remained.
An impossibly anachronistic and broken cubic clock sat sideways on the ground, a massive gilded and lacquered beauty with four faces, bold black iron hands frozen over a framework of shattered pearl-white glass. Spindly flowers and vines poked out from the fractures in the faces, powdery marble dust obscured all but a few of the classical Aetholean numerals.
While the clock was clearly an artful antique, the tumbled temple was old enough to be timeless. The two didn’t mesh.
“Hmm. Both broke and baroque,” Ian mused, chuckling at a pun that would’ve made everyone but Eli groan. “We’re lost, you and me both. Neither of us belong here. What brings a timepiece like you to a place like this?”
The clock, of course, was silent. The will-o-the wisps buzzed and hummed but otherwise, there was silence. Figuring this was the end of this little quest for now, Ian patted the clock for good luck for the return journey, cold iron touching warm flesh-
The vines within the clockface unfurled all at once, a black void at their heart.
The stars burn a brilliant violet hue against the black void of space, furious and fierce.
“What the hell?! Where am I, what is going on-”
Flesh and blood, bone and soul stretched so, so thin, scraped against the screaming stars.
“Why can’t I, why, I, I can’t breathe, hnngh, help me-”
Music of the spheres, song of shattered eons, a lament for lost daughters, centuries spilling away like endless tears.
“Help, someone, help me!!!”
Help me? Will YOU help me? Is it NOW?
“AAAAAAGH!”
Soul splintering, searing beams of living light, ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
Fast as the speed of thought, Ian was whole, his mind and spirit no longer twisting along an endless ribbon of iridescent starfire. Shards of self, torn apart and cobbled together again.
He opened his eyes and found himself both impossibly alone and in good company.
Ian stood upon an island of glossy pinkish-white marble, a hundred staircases spiraling away. Golden stars gleamed against a greenish-black backdrop, the void of space almost akin to a vibrant painting. The stairways twisted in upon one another, helixes intersecting with bridges, arches and paths below, besides, above, stretching away on every conceivable axis. Dozens of different Ians walked the endless paths of the abstract night, various versions of his many bodies marching at all angles. One even hung upside-down right over Ian, oblivious to both gravity and his closest clone.
“Nope, not happening, nope nope nope…”
Ian flew along the bridge before him, covering his eyes and ears. Apart from the dizzying demented sights of the twisted dimension, there was also a sort of martial music playing about the marble void, worming its way into his mind. Strident, serene and severe, a beautiful bombastic bringer of war to the heavens. The sweeping music crested and climbed alongside Ian while he traversed the crazy paving of the maddening path.
Millions of marble islands dotted the domain, ivory pinpricks against a bright turquoise nebula. As the bridges and islands spanned further out, a row of radiant crystal arches shot by, their facets wrinkled almost like brain tissue. Ian wondered for a moment if he and his shadow-selves were somehow neurons flitting along the paths of a gargantuan galaxy-sized mind, only to have his thoughts interrupted by a strike of golden lightning while he ran beneath his first arch, the colors of the world flickering into the reverse colors of a negative film slip-
—He awoke to a golden sunrise and frosty weather, spring still new for most of the world and not yet alive in most of The Norland Wastes. Despite the chill wind and ash-white wisps of cloud high in the sky, the vast forest far below them was green as summer’s peak. Lost in the verdant spread was a cracked and ruined dome, pale and fractured like an egg.
Ian pressed his face up against the cold circle of thick glass, freckled nose and hot breath leaving misty smudges. His pajamas were thin, and his bathrobe hung open, but it was warm enough he didn’t care. The airship engines thrummed loudly and the hull shook, but he knew all was well. His parents were there with him.
Indeed, a moment later, the door to his cabin opened following a patient knock. His father stood there in shirtsleeves, suspenders and pinstripe trousers, his hair a shock of wild fiery-red somehow messier than Ian’s own. Mom was busy at the airship controls readying themselves for their next landing, so it was Dad’s duty to greet their son on this special day.
“Morning, son!” He reached down to tousle Ian’s hair, laughing at his son’s goofball grin. “Happy birthday! Hope you don’t mind spending it exploring The Moonstone Vale with an oaf like me.”
Ian had just turned ten years old; he was happy as could be. Of course he didn’t mind—
The archway passed behind him. Ian gasped as if ice water had been poured down his back. What was this place? Why was it making him see childhood memories he barely recalled?
“Oh no, here comes another one-”
—Mirrorwhite Lake shone bright, cold waves rippling towards a horizon of gray-green hills. A castle perched upon a craggy hill rose above the shores behind Ian, high stone walls hiding the courtyards and city beyond. He was sleepy still, the morning new as the dark cloak and coat he wore. He remembered being rustled awake out of the blue, dressed and fed bacon and fried bread, ordered into the airship’s creaky old lifeboat then rowed across the water.
His parents were with him, leaving Uncle Darius to look after the ship. Ian had seldom seen them so quiet and concerned. They’d said little, explained less. In their hands they held a bag of his belongings and books, several fat envelopes and the family heirloom, the silver-and-emerald cross. They looked at one another with teary eyes, then at Ian.
“This is so you’ll be safe. It’s for the best, Ian. We’re so, so sorry you can’t come with us. So sorry. We’ll be back and we love you. We’re sorry.”
An hour later, as men and women trained in the yard with sword and sphere, Ian stood alone by the jade green beacon, wishing they were back already. The airship was gone, the only object in the air was a swooping dragon. On any other day, that would’ve captivated Ian wholeheartedly. But not today.
A woman with pale blonde hair beneath a silver helm approached Ian, proud and prim.
“Good morrow. I am Paladin Secundus Tabitha Rook, soon to be head knight of our local chapter of The Azure Order. You must be Ian. I’ve heard a lot about you, most of it good so no fear. Welcome to your new life as my Saber-Ward.”
Though he was twelve years old and very much on the verge of adolescence, Ian had never felt younger than in that moment. As Rook reached out for a handshake, Ian instead lunged forward for a hug, burying his face and tears against her—
Ian shuddered as the second memory arch flew by past the endless marble stairs hanging in the sky. He had recalled that day too often, though he scarce remembered Rook’s words before.
How much did she know about Ian’s parents and their whereabouts? She seldom spoke of that day, and he’d always been too afraid to ask. Perhaps that should change…
“What is all this?! Why are you showing me these things?!”
Your friends have all endured visions from Beyond to aid them in their travels, boomed a beautiful, brilliant voice. Now it’s your turn.
A groan erupted from Ian’s lips as a third crystal arch soared overhead—
—The past again, a few weeks later. Many different strata of servants and staff existed within Sterling Keep, each with their own different tasks and subcultures. The librarians and kitchen staff seldom mingled with the footmen and launderers. Soldiers and priestesses might wander the same halls but hardly ever together. And the mages rarely came down from their tower at all except on business. Even with all of this, the children of the various orders often met for play, for school and when their work brought them together. And they told each other all sorts of things regardless of class and station.
There was a new arrival today. And he was from the Outer Isles, where few ever went.
“So the mages have a foundling, too, huh?” Trey Baxter chortled, leaning over the parapets of the gatehouse wall so he could see the people moving along the bridge below. Dark-skinned and handsome with wisps of first stubble, the stocky boy was actually older than Ian though most assumed otherwise due to his being already a few inches taller. Usually busy helping his father feed the dragons, Trey was one of Ian’s first friends in the strange castle. “And it’s a poor outsider boy for a change. Guess you’re not alone at last!”
“Oh, shut up, Baxter,” Ian replied with a playful punch to Trey’s shoulders. He wore a wooden training sword at his side now, though he did more homework than sparring practice. He was growing used to his new life here, though bouts of homesickness still took him. “Haven’t been alone in ages! I’m fine, really!”
“Then why’d I hear you weeping outside the Great Hall the other day, Greencross? Sounded pretty damn lonely to me, heh!”
Ian’s punches grew harder and a touch less playful, Trey cackling with glee while he dodged. Their horseplay and teasing soon ended as their usual minder, Carmen Summerfield the priestess’ daughter, snuck up on them.
Carmen’s wild chestnut hair was pulled back to look presentable along with her light green initiate’s robes, brown contact lenses trying (and failing) to hide the pretty amber eyes she was weirdly ashamed of. As part of her training to work with her mother’s faith, the older girl had taken it upon herself to look after the younger folks taking up their first jobs in the cavernous old castle. She’d been a great help and comfort to Ian so far while Paladin Rook was busy.
And now she looked set to be helpful to a new boy, pale and short and sickly-looking with strange silver flyaway hair. He wore a very old scratchy-looking secondhand suit of dark wool and a crinkly ribbon-loop tie, his collar starched and stiff. He almost seemed a ghost; his eyes certainly had a haunted look from what little Ian could see.
“Ian, Trey, not to interrupt whatever nonsense scuffling you have going on, I’m sure it was a very important sort of masculine nonsense-”
“Damn straight it was!” Trey fist-bumped Ian.
“Ignoring that for now,” Carmen continued with a cut-off curse, dropping her voice to a low volume, “I wanted to introduce you to Eli Nash of Greythorne Village. He’s to join the Porphyron Chapter once they know what to do with him, it’ll be a few days before they’ve made his classes ready. He’s a little overwhelmed by it all, being from one of those islands settled by the mad mystery prophets.”
“Oh,” whispered Ian. He’d heard about those isles from his mother in their travels. Beyond what she told him, he knew little other than that they didn’t treat magic users well at all. He wasn’t even sure if they considered them human.
“Oh indeed. He’s sort of a rescue case; we need to be a bit gentle. You’re also new here and only a year apart, I figured you’d understand what he’s going through. At least a little. Could you keep him company for a few hours while I help sweep the cloisters? You can have my pie after supper.”
“No bribe needed, we could both use a friend.”
Ian approached the boy and after his handshake was stared at with puzzlement, he clapped Eli softly on the shoulder. The mageling shuddered like a chill went up his spine so Ian backed off and tried a different approach.
“Hi there! My name’s Ian. I’m also new to Sterling Keep, so no worries if you’re a touch spooked, so am I. While they figure a few things out, want to watch a monster movie together? We can sneak some snacks from the kitchens, my treat!”
Eli blinked and bit his lip, spindly fingers fiddling with a coat button. He hid his eyes beneath his shaggy bangs, so he had to brush them aside to see Ian. His voice was high and halting; he clearly hadn’t spoken much in days, maybe even weeks.
“What’s a m-monster movie and why do we watch it? Can my cat come watch, too?”
Ian tried hard not to laugh, glad to no longer be the only lonely stranger in the castle—
The memory arch soared away and Ian found himself alone once more in the realm of madness and distorted dimensions. He was so very, very tired and wished he’d just gone back with the wood for the bonfire like he’d promised.
“Please let me leave!” Ian cried out, not sure who at all he was talking to or why. “I need to get back to my friends, the people you showed me from my memories!”
You will see them again in good time. There is always more to see first. More of what was and more of what is yet to come.
A rapid succession of arches flew towards Ian, all at once in a chaotic sequence, and Ian was so overwhelmed he couldn’t tell which was memory flashing before his eyes and which was illusion, signs and portents swimming alongside fragments of yesterday—
—It was pouring buckets outside and closing time had hit The Filigree Falcon. The last tram of the night had already trundled off to the other side of the bridge, taking Eli and Carmen up to the castle. Trey had stomped off to his room earlier and was so dead asleep he hadn’t answered no matter how hard the knocks were on the door. Ian was stranded in the storm.
The blue-and-green neon sign flickered like fire and ice amid sheets of chilled rain, the only source of light along the dark and empty street. Ian huddled in the battered old tram shelter, too tired for the long, wet march back. He rubbed his hands together, wishing he’d brought his spell-sword for a simple flame spell. Or his vision-crystal to ask someone, anyone for help.
Mostly, he wished he hadn’t lingered for those last five minutes to flirt with someone who was ultimately uninterested. What could he say? He was lonely since Julia had left.
A swift gust of wind and a sleek crimson sky-skimmer flitting down the street disrupted Ian’s thoughts, the bright bullet slicing through the storm. Ian tried flagging the craft down but thought better of it and fell back to the bench, resigned.
Surprisingly, the skimmer came to a halt anyway and the door slid open, revealing a beautiful dark-haired girl with a wicked grin. He couldn’t decide whether she was an angel or a demon and he didn’t care. The first time he’d ever locked eyes with Melissa.
“What’s a handsome stranger like you doing out in this pisser? C’mon, climb in!”—
Ian blinked.
—Port Nightshade was a mad maze of a city, ramshackle hovels of pale wood and looming blocky brick-and-brownstone row houses crowded around narrow streets and winding steps. Sculpted stone arches and grotesque statues wherever you looked, black domes and corroded copper spires rising high into the winter-pale sky. Ragged red-and-gray banners fluttered along every gas-lamp and terrace, the striped awnings of makeshift market stalls huddled together for warmth even though it was well into spring.
Ian strode along the ice-slick cobbles of a nameless bridge straddling the black waters of The Belladon River, ignoring the cries of huskers and hawkers, avoiding the City Watch in their shining breastplates and pointy helmets. A feral winged cat darted out of an alley and ran across his boots, chasing one of the mottled gray-green isopods that were frequently found in the Harbor District. A filthy-faced pickpocket tried robbing him by the stone chimeras flanking the bridge, but Ian’s height, sword and glare were enough to drive the lad away.
“I have to find them,” Ian whispered to himself, over and over. “The way back to The Abbatoir must be somewhere around here! Why can’t I find anything in this stupid city?”
He turned his gaze towards the crowded harbor around the river mouth, ships and airships cheek by jowl with colossal Guild towers and weather-worn monuments. Amid the chaotic, crumbling splendor of the port, Ian’s eyes fell upon not the bioship he’d hoped to espy but an altogether different discovery. He hadn’t found his friends, but he had found something just as important.
Ian knew where The Blood-Wraith was hiding —
Ian blinked.
—The Wraiths were screaming, Ian was screaming, the whole world was screaming!
Cracks ripped through the marble floor of The Cobalt Chamber, tearing the checkerboard pattern asunder. Crimson flames danced atop the black marble plinths in place of the usual blue, churning poison fumes flooding the stark, stagnant air.
Amid the wild inferno, Ian heard Lady Juno calling his name, her sword raised high—
Ian blinked, rapid and repeating. Tears dried up with the endless sea of light.
—He and Eli walked the length of the wall towards The Tower of Fallen Goddesses, laughing and joking, unaware of the arrival of Paladin Rook and Arch-Magus Flint as they questioned Sentinel Cole. The chance to stop the madness from happening was right there and Ian could do nothing to change his past—
—The audience chamber was crowded, the galleries teeming to capacity with spectators. An air of morbid curiosity and thirst for blood fell upon the hexagonal hall with its colorful silk tapestries and dazzling columns of light, a palpable hush draping the court.
Ian knelt upon the ground at the command of his handlers, stunned as The Sovereign of Omnecath sentenced him to death—
—His deep breaths were halting and heavy, ragged and rage-tinged, his muscles stiff as stone. A wiry, white-haired man lay sprawled upon the ground at his feet, the ancient scarecrow’s life’s blood coating Ian’s blade and drip-drip-dripping away. Eli knelt over the old man’s body, weeping and shouting his heart out, while a strange sun-haired boy draped his arms protectively around his friend’s sagging shoulders.
When Eli finally looked up at Ian, there was nothing friendly in his eyes.
Only cold-blooded murder—
—They raised ivory horns in memory of the fallen, they drank golden mead to celebrate the living. It may very well be the last night anyone could claim such a status. Ian looked at all the survivors around him, worn and weathered, and grinned.
Tomorrow, they would at last step foot upon the ruins of World’s End—
The crystal arches soared away at last and so, too, did the pale marble bridge. Ian sailed away with them, screaming as he plummeted off the bridge’s edge into a bottomless well lined with glinting, glowing mirrors, each facet reflecting even more dangerous visions.
To his left, a trio of gemstones, their facets cracked and bleeding out rich red torrents like they were savaged hunks of ruined flesh. Fire opal, carnelian, obsidian. A pair of pale, trembling hands clutching the stones, skin stained in scarlet.
To his right, an impossibly enormous cathedral floated in the vacuum of space, a shining scepter of striated reddish-brown stone and vibrant stained glass, dark spires and minarets twisting and turning against the night like a key entering a lock.
In the mirrors ahead, a series of images rushed by. More gemstones accompanied by surreal symbols. Smokestone and a vial of poison. A chunk of onyx and a rusty sickle. A massive ruby set into a beautiful sword. A sphere of malachite and a ghost-pale scythe. Last but not least, a white diamond capping a curving crown, platinum points wreathed in frozen flames.
Seven faces passed him by, beautiful and serene among columns of golden-green light.
And then at last, the shining well swallowed Ian whole.
When Ian awoke, he found himself returned to the ruins, only they weren’t the same.
Coppery grilles surrounded the broken columns like a cage, spheres of bristling electricity dancing along thin wires. Hourglasses full of jewel-toned beads floated above the flagstones, hovering to and fro. A burning brimstone scent tinged the air. Beside the broken baroque clock, a stranger stared at the starry sky.
“Before you know where you’re going, you must know where you’ve been. Of course, time is an endless and impossible loop, so that can be difficult to parse out. My apologies if your brain melted during the process. It can’t be helped with mortals. And it will happen again. Has happened again. Before and later and now.”
Ian approached the woman cautiously, her back turned to him. She was made of shadows and starfire, a glass sphere held in an outstretched hand. The other hand rested on the ruined clockface, where shadows of the cage fought against the moonlight from beyond, only for the patterns to consume one another.
“Have we met before?” Ian whispered.
“Yes, many times. And no, never.” The shadow-woman sighed. “You have seen some of the broken path you must walk ahead and the numerous forms that road can take. You ask for protection for your friends and along many of those paths from the ancient evil you hunt; you will find it. I will watch, pray and guide as you find what it is you seek; in turn you will struggle, fight and grow while walking through darkness and pain, showing me you have what it takes to be Ultima’s Champion.”
“Is…is that what I am?! Here or in the future?”
“You tell me. Is that what you are?”
Ian had no clue what to say. He had been through so much, without even eating dinner.
“I have it in me to be someone’s champion, I think. My friends, at least. I can do my best by them. And I can help anyone who needs me.”
“It is a start. That is all anyone can do, more than many. I know what it is to be helpless, watching the world go by from the vault of night, unable to reach out beyond the heavens to help. You can do far more than I.”
“If you say so. Er, Your Holiness.” Ian had already had one hell of a day and now he was speaking directly with a goddess. His goddess, if his faculties were fully functioning, which was far from certain. “What happens if I refuse to help you?”
She stroked the clockface gently, her back still turned. “Will you refuse?”
Ian gulped. “Not really in my nature to do so. Guess that’s a no.”
The goddess-shadow laughed. “You have always amused. And will do so again. But not here or now. You are not destined nor chosen but the one who chooses now. The still point is over, the return almost upon us. From here, this version of you begins one of the paths laid out before you. Perhaps all or none. I can only guide. The rest is yours to decide.”
Soft as a warm breath, the caged ruins faded, the goddess-shadow vanished.
“Will we see each other once more?” Ian asked the night, his own body caught up in a swirling storm of will-o-the-wisps.
“Of course. Before, later and now. You’ve never really left my side, just like your parents have never really left yours. You will meet again.”
The glowing sprite-storm broke away and Ian found himself once more on the beach, his bundle of gathered wood at his feet, the bonfire only a few minutes’ walk away.
Ian fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the maddening wonders he had just seen as the rest of his senses and sanity were restored. There would be world enough and time to consider all he’d witnessed later.
Here and now, that grilled fish smelled really, really good…
