by Jason Alan
He didn’t go unnoticed….
“Ah! What is this?”
In Ulith Urn’s highest chamber, Syndreck the Brooding stared into the bubbling swill of the Cauldron of Carcass Control. Along with its other uses, the cauldron acted as a crystal ball; and now, in its depths, Syndreck descried an intruder on the edge of the Wicked Plains.
“How annoying!” He just knew this intruder was going to end up being a nuisance. (Indeed, he would be!) “Why now? Why, why, why? I’m just starting to scratch at the dimensional walls, just starting to utilize my newly-kindled powers!”
Syndreck grumbled, mumbled, and cursed.
He squeezed more sorcery into his eyes, and looked deeper into the cauldron…
Soular Centurion 7 stepped onto the plains and into the necromancer’s scrying eyes. That he wasn’t indigenous to Phate was obvious. He was concealed in a suit of supra-steel armor whose design was angular and alien, its silvery coverings dented and damaged from a million interstellar wars, but still reflective enough to glint in the morning sun. He was large, standing over twenty feet tall. He was a mixture of beings, comprised of one third flesh, one third machine, and one third ghost. His cybernetic eyes were gloomy grey, but occasionally glinted red, peering from deep within the thin slit of his helm’s visor. Clear tubes ran across him, then disappeared into small gaps in the armor-joints. The fluid in the tubes was translucent, flecked with gold, and flowing at the speed of light, casting the centurion within a golden god-like glow.
Although many knew of him, whether by legend or confrontation, no one had ever known him personally. And if he had a voice, it had never been heard. Of his heart and mind, none had ever known…
Older than most galaxies, a power incalculable, this was Soular Centurion 7, the warrior from the stars.
Now a myriad of tiny lights came to life on various parts of his body. Some blinked in even intervals, some shone steady, and some failed. He surveyed the Wicked Plains, then strode slowly, purposefully forward, his movements smoothly robotic, his head rhythmically swaying from side to side.
He looked to Ulith Urn and, through the cauldron’s murky liquid, stared back into Syndreck’s astonished eyes.
Syndreck recoiled.
“So, the intruder is an alien enemy!”
Although Nenockra Rool had forewarned him, he was still surprised. A universal centurion? Here on lowly Phate?
“Now the stars themselves oppose us!” Syndreck clapped his hands together. “Drekklor, come.” The shadow demon appeared as if from nowhere. The necromancer pointed to the centurion’s brightening image. “Destroy this creature.”
Drekklor made a gesture that could only be interpreted as an adamant “no.”
“What? Why always with this ‘no’?”
The “no” this time was because Nenockra Rool needed Drekklor for another matter, but Syndreck was yet to understand this. The necromancer pointed at the image in the cauldron, and shouted, “Look! There! There is the enemy at hand! Kill it!”
Again, the adamant “no.”
Syndreck was confounded. “Why not? Why not?!”
Drekklor hissed, “Look deeper.”
Syndreck cursed at him, but leaned over and stared into the depths of his putrid pot.
There was a light in the sky beyond the plains.
Syndreck gasped.
It was a shimmering object, as bright as a birthing star, rising higher and higher into the clouds. He shuddered, for he had seen this light once before, a thousand years ago, when all his demonic empire had vanished, when his own soul had been sucked from the primary universe.
It was the unmistakable imprint of the dreaded Sunsword Surassis. That the sword was inactive and yet still so blinding to his evil eyes…
“Sooooo…all our enemies are upon us! And that fool Warloove has obviously not yet been able to acquire the Sunsword!” Syndreck swiveled his head toward the shadow demon. “I understand now. The master tasks you to chase the sword, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Then go! Why are you still here? Go forth and do as our master wishes! I will contend with this alien invader!”
Drekklor’s form blurred and he blasted away, a streak of black wind shooting straight through the walls.
Syndreck looked back into the cauldron. He squeezed his eyes shut and thrust his hands over the bubbling surface. The cauldron churned and sizzled. The liquid darkened and thickened to look like black blood. Syndreck’s mouth came open and a dark song of the dead stole from the bowels of his accursed being. The song’s evil influence was felt across all time and space. In the distant past, men walking on faraway worlds felt their hearts burst in their chests; in the far future, seas exploded with titanic waves that consumed coastal cities. From the trivial to the catastrophic, dire things happened all over the universe, in all times.
This was the price of Syndreck’s dark magic!
And now, on Phate, the Dying Towers of Ulith Urn trembled and shook. The entire compound writhed and wriggled and all about it the Wicked Plains quaked. The tremors could be felt for miles around. There was rumbling and booming…then all went silent.
Syndreck brought his head forward and opened his eyes. He spoke as much to you, my brave reader, as anyone, when he said, “It is time for the slaves to arise, the dead upon the plains, the specters in the sky...
“Now, I command you, arise!”
And though it was but a whisper, it was loud enough to open the eyes of a million corpses.
That mortals murder is baffling to my immortal mind. They have no conception of the immeasurable fragility and preciousness of existence. It is a treasure to be guarded at all costs; for how long is a mortal life when compared to the span of eternity?
Syrellian Syn
Soothsayer of the Seventh Kind
There was no sun, no spirit, nor any radiant goddess of light that could have outshone Morning’s Hope as she soared through the Phatian sky. When the sun hit her just right, her translucent body refracted its rays into little dancing rainbows, and her tail shimmered like a stream of golden stars, and her outline twinkled like a dragon constellation come to life.
Drinwor found it hard to believe she was anything but an angel. She was so swift, so graceful! Not a movement of her wings was wasted. With Vu Verian keeping pace just off her left flank, and Morigos’ buzzing beast behind and to her right, she sped away from Vren Adiri, continuing to accelerate even as she ascended.
She wasn’t the only beautiful thing emblazing the morning. The sky they traversed was unlike any Drinwor had ever seen. A widespread cover of silvery-red cirrus clouds hung high over their heads, but beneath that, not a sorcerous storm was in sight. It was as if a new realm had been unveiled, and it was wondrous. Airborne seas of multicolored vapor floated in the northern distance, with suspended forests of green shadow trees encircling their shores. The ghosts of sky elf castles could be seen to the southeast; and to the southwest, flights of gemstone dragons flitted, their jeweled wings scintillating, their tuneful voices accompanying the whistling gusts.
Drinwor soaked it all in, then twisted to look around the back of his saddle-throne. Vren Adiri’s cloudwall was already a tiny distant puff, but beyond that, just over the amaranthine haze of the western horizon, tendrils of blue sky clung to the vanished tail of night. Now that was something to see. For the first time in a thousand years, not all about the sky was bloody or black.
Drinwor, shuddering with excited chills, called over his shoulder, “Morning’s Hope, there’s blue in the sky!”
Morning’s Hope smiled, turned her head and said, “Yes, indeed there is. Savor it, my Emperor, savor it with your eyes and with your heart.”
Drinwor did. He took it in until finally he grew uncomfortable from stretching around. Then he faced forward and breathed in an air that had a freshness he had never before experienced. “Truly, this morning has somehow been granted by the Gods, for who else has the power to defy the darkness of recent days?”
&n
bsp; Morning’s Hope smiled.
Eventually she leveled at a very high altitude, and led the companions on.
Riveted by Volcar’s endlessly fascinating features, Drinwor was constantly looking down. There were new lands to see, new forests. There were cities of silver and turbid molten lakes. There were ruins of lordly estates and bones of beasts so huge their rib cages reached into the sky like curving ivory towers. There were the Mountains of Might, their molten rivers, and, oh, so many different sights!
But nothing was as spectacular as that which now climbed into the sky and with glory claimed dominance over the day.
Drinwor pointed forward. “Morning’s Hope, look!”
“Behold,” Morning’s Hope cried out, “our sacred star, shining with the vigor of yore!”
Whether by some sorcerous trick or effect of prayer, the ascending sun was brightening from red to white. May the Gods return, it was brightening to white! And all the lands were illuminated as they had been in times of old. The mountains’ blackness went from bleak to gleaming, the surfaces of crystal lakes glittered with a million speckled points, and the whole world seemed to crawl out from under the shadows in which it had lived for a thousand years.
“I don’t believe my eyes,” Vu Verian said from aside.
“Bah, cursed, blinding star!” Morigos complained as he shaded his eyes. “I’d just as soon kill for some more clouds.”
“Be it blessed,” said Morning’s Hope.
Drinwor shook his head. “I’ve never seen the world look like this. How is all of this possible?”
His dragon looked back to him and said: “The sun is a child of the universe, Drinwor, just like you, and it has a soul, just like you. And despite what everyone seems to think, not all the sun’s strength is gone. No!” With conviction she clenched a foreclaw into a fist. “Today it rises in defiance of the darkness set against it. Today it rises to fight. It’s a sign and a reminder: not all prayers go unanswered, and not all hope is lost. And by the grace of the universe, may this light last…may it last.”
And then, just as Morning’s Hope finished speaking, a great flash shone from directly above, a flash that for an instant rivaled the brilliance of the invigorated sun.
Everyone shot a glance upward.
A bolt of blue light burst out of the clouds directly above them, then streaked straight down behind them. Drinwor whirled about and watched it descend. It arced toward the Cliffs of Moaning Wishes, then suddenly turned aside and sped across the Wicked Plains. There it disappeared, somewhere on the edge of the dead fields, its tail fading beneath the sun’s greater light.
“What was that, now?” Drinwor asked. This was turning into quite a day for strange wonders!
“It was a Shard of Zyrinthia,” Vu Verian replied.
Morning’s Hope considered for a moment, then said, “I don’t think that was a shard.”
“It was,” Vu Verian maintained. “Look, their bombardment begins!” He motioned upward with the tip of his wing.
Drinwor looked back up, and when he did, his gaze was met with a vision so breathtaking, so frighteningly awe-inspiring, he could only utter, “Impossible…”
The blue streak of light had sundered the cover of cirrus clouds; each side of the split was burning away like the edge of a piece of enkindled parchment, further revealing the heavens. And there, in full view, were the Shards of Zyrinthia. They were close now, crawling right over the atmosphere like a blazing band of fiery little moons. The largest shards were in the lead directly over their heads, heading due east, the same course as the companions. The countless thousands of smaller ones trailed into the distance behind them, fading out of sight as they angled up into unseeable space.
Morigos laughed. “Well, there’s one thing my idiot nephew was right about: the shards! Phate is inheriting its own ring of asteroids.”
Drinwor was astounded. “But they seemed much farther away just a day ago. How did this happen?”
“They were closer than they seemed,” Vu Verian replied. “They fell into orbit overnight, and our world’s embrace pulls them ever closer.”
“What happened to Zyrinthia?” Drinwor asked. “Do you know, Morning’s Hope? My father knew very little about it, said it’s mostly unknown.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than your father did,” Morning’s Hope replied. “We believe our sister world was destroyed by some alien means. Whether it played a part in an intergalactic war, or was just an innocent bystander, we will likely never know. We can only pray for the billions lost…” And then she dipped her head, whispered a little prayer.
“But now we look forward to Zyrinthia’s vengeance,” Morigos said from behind. He guided Fleeting Shadow closer to the translucent dragon, and added, “Soon, burning fury will rain down upon all the lands.”
Vu Verian reluctantly concurred with the dark elf mage. “Indeed, fate has long proclaimed that the coming of the shards would coincide with the coming of the Dark Forever. The meteors will come, and so will Nenockra Rool.”
“No!” Morning’s Hope defiantly declared. “We don’t know that for certain! And the shards are not our concern, anyway, for there is nothing we can do about them. And remember, as much as fate foresees the coming of darkness, it also speaks of the ascension of light—our light. Of all the beings in the universe, it is not for us to brood on darkness, for we journey with the Son and Savior of the Stars! Drinwor and the Sunsword are our only concern. Never forget this!”
Then she sighed, fearing her tone had been too strong. In a considerably calmer voice, she said, “Forgive my ire, it’s just so important that we stand fast against all darkness and despair. The shards will come as they may. Let them, I say. We’ve survived their wrath before, we will survive them again.” She curled her head around. “Drinwor?”
Drinwor smiled at her. “I’m with you.”
Vu Verian added, “We’re all with you, milady, and I shall not speak of such doom again.”
“It’s all right Vu Verian, I’m glad you’re with us,” said Morning’s Hope.
Morigos snickered, made to comment, but abstained when he caught his companions’ glares.
Morning’s Hope looked ahead, slapped her wings, and flew forward with all speed. Vu Verian glided out to her left, Fleeting Shadow flew into his spot behind and to the right, and they all kept pace and raced on through the morning.
The hours before midday passed swiftly, with the rhythmic beating and buzzing of wings upon the wind the only sound. Drinwor couldn’t bring himself to look up, but from time to time brought his glance down. There was little to see now, for the landscape was shrouded beneath a yellowish haze cast by the sun’s rays. Here and there, some mountain peak or tower top broke through the blur like an isolated island, but otherwise, the surrounding sky was bare. Far away, the horizon was but a silver slit separating the oceans from the stars. Drinwor wondered what lands lay beyond sight, and what mysteries they held.
Perhaps he would soon see.
As they flew, he realized that he was actually enjoying the flight. Despite feeling guilty for even allowing himself to entertain any kind of joy in this time of grieving, he often caught himself smiling. He couldn’t help it. He had never before ridden a dragon like Morning’s Hope. Simply put, it was exhilarating. She seemed to have no end of energy, and he couldn’t get over how fast she was. He noticed the faster she flew, the more translucent she became.
Yes, Morning’s Hope was a blessing. In such a short time, her strength and wisdom had soothed his sorrow and eased his despair. She had filled a place in his heart that had long been barren, a place he didn’t even know was there.
The sky was his kingdom, but in Morning’s Hope his heart was finding a home.
They flew on, with hints of blue behind them, and ahead a future unknown…
Many miles passed beneath them and Drinwor realized he had absolutely no idea where they were. How could he? All his life he’d only seen Phate from the miles high perch of an Aresh
rian terrace, and his father had never shared anything of the world’s geography with him (perhaps in an effort to dissuade him from adventuring on its surface, he now thought).
He called ahead, “Where are we? Are we close to the hall?”
Morning’s Hope smiled to herself. He is young. She turned her head back and said, “We’re still some distance away, but keeping an acceptable pace. We should reach the Hall of Voices before nightfall.”
Then, right after she had uttered the words, the world darkened. Drinwor braved a look up, and gasped.
Of course!
It hadn’t occurred to him until now—the sun’s path was leading it straight for the shards. And now, at the stroke of midday, the lead and largest shard was passing directly in front of the dying star, eclipsing it. The world dimmed to look like it was dusk now. The sky lost its clarity and depth. All around, above and below, as if encouraged to come out of hiding by the disappearance of the sun, clouds crept into view. They methodically filled their familiar spaces and darkened with storms. The once soothing winds now lashed. The cool air became icy. Thunder made its presence known with a booming voice, and multicolored lightning branched out below. The earlier day’s light seemed like a distant memory, or perhaps a dream. The hints of blue were lost, and what sections of sky weren’t shrouded by clouds deepened to maroon.
As tactful as ever, Morigos coughed and sputtered with, “Ah, much better! I can see again...barely.” He cupped his hands over his cowl’s brim.
Vu Verian shook his owl head. “It was beautiful while it lasted.”
“Drah ool layana less ratan ravasha, oh meis inzivita,” whispered Morning’s Hope, invoking a long-unused dragon tongue.
Drinwor didn’t quite hear her. “What was that?”
May my mother’s eyes again brighten you, my beloved star, Morning’s Hope thought. “Nothing, my Lord, nothing.”
The group’s enthusiasm (with the exception of Morigos’) dimmed with the daylight, and a disappointed Drinwor felt his heart darken with the world. He had never before realized how strongly the appearance of everything affected his general mood. Now he understood why his father had always uttered, “Ah, but for blue skies.” It wasn’t so much the color he was yearning for, but for the feeling that the color imbued.