Phate

by Jason Alan

  “For blues skies, indeed,” Drinwor whispered.

  Apparently, Morning’s Hope heard him, for she said, “We fight for blue skies, Drinwor, not just for ourselves, but for all the universe. And I swear, we will see them again.”

  Drinwor hoped she was right.

  Half an hour or so later, the sun moved out from behind the largest shards. Its hue returned to its usual bloody red, and the sky brightened a bit. The whole world flickered, though, for the sun was still partially obscured behind the smaller shards. The clouds around the companions were speckled with dancing shadows.

  Drinwor grew more and more anxious about reaching the hall, and began to wonder if they truly were going to arrive before nightfall. He leaned forward to again inquire of Morning’s Hope, but before his first words passed his lips, Vu Verian cried out, “Ahead! There! Do you see that?”

  Drinwor cupped his hands over his eyes and looked straight ahead.

  Off in the distance, about at their level of altitude, floated some widespread greyish shapes. A bank of oddly symmetrical rain clouds, perhaps. Not surprising, they were beginning to crop up everywhere. Drinwor didn’t see anything too unusual, but a suddenly jittery Vu Verian bolted out in front of the group. Morning’s Hope and Fleeting Shadow took his lead and flew in behind him. The clouds quickly grew larger, reminding Drinwor of just how fast they had been flying. Soon they came up right in front of the shapes, and stopped.

  Vu Verian sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of these places. I didn’t know they still existed.”

  “This place stinks of foul sorcery,” Morigos grumbled.

  “Morigos,” Morning’s Hope said, “be quiet.”

  Amazingly, Morigos did manage to go quiet. Drinwor stayed silent, too, and stared at the strange sight before him.

  It was as if a fleet of alien vessels had descended from the stars to hover in perfect formation in Phate’s high sky. All told, there were hundreds of the things arranged in dozens of rows that took up nearly half a square mile. Although they appeared to be cloudlike in substance, each held a perfectly rectangular shape. They were flat, featureless, and completely motionless, as impervious to the wind as Dreadships are to the sea. There was an ominous placidity about them. They looked drab, unhealthy in a way, as if they were—

  Drinwor was struck with chills as he suddenly realized: these were dead clouds.

  To look upon a field of dead clouds would be immensely unsettling, wouldn’t you say? Nevertheless, some inexplicable force compelled our Drinwor to hold his stare. “What is this place?” he asked anyone.

  Vu Verian bowed his head. “It is a sky elf graveyard.”

  “I mean no disrespect,” Morigos said, “but I believe we should leave, now.”

  Vu Verian shot the dark elf a spiteful glare. “I don’t know, for some reason I wish to stay.”

  “We will stay for a minute,” Morning’s Hope said, “and pay our respects, for I have never had the chance to honor our noble sky elven dead.”

  Morigos shook his head. “I tell you, that is unwise, for I’m fairly certain my people have over the years cursed all such places. And Syndreck may have—” He coughed and choked on his words. The runes on his robes brightened, but no one, including himself, seemed to notice.

  “No, it isn’t cursed,” Vu Verian disagreed. “I can sense them.”

  “Sense whom?” Drinwor asked.

  “My people,” the owl answered. “I can feel their presence…and…may the Gods return, they speak to me now.”

  Vu Verian looked as if he meant to say more, but whatever words were to follow were lost as if they had soundlessly tumbled from his beak. His eyes widened and he went very still, with the exception of his wings, which began to flutter faster.

  Morning’s Hope looked confounded. “I can’t sense anything, I’m sorry to say.” She turned to Morigos. “You believe this place to be cursed?”

  The dark elf cleared his throat the best he was able, then managed: “After the war, dark elves delighted in defiling anything of sky elf origin, especially the remains of the sky elves themselves. If any souls reside here, they will not be welcoming to us…well, certainly not to me!” Then he leaned forward in his saddle, looked to the dead clouds like a nervous tower watcher peering through the fog of a foreboding night, and added with a whisper, “My people’s sacrilege aside, the dead, any dead, are to be avoided as much as possible so long as Syndreck the Brooding resides on this world.”

  Morning’s Hope nodded. “In this I heartily agree.” Then she turned away, and began to ascend. “Let us leave.”

  “No, not yet.” Vu Verian said, his voice strangely monotone. He slowly drifted closer to the dead clouds.

  Morning’s Hope said, “Vu Verian, I don’t want to take any chances, and if you want to see the Emperor safely into the hall, we need to get there before nightfall.”

  Vu Verian didn’t acknowledge her.

  He was listening to something else…

  Out over the dead clouds he flew, his talons skimming their smooth surfaces, riling up little swirling plumes. The maneuver unnerved the rest of the group. It felt as if Vu Verian was lingering on the edge of a volcano whose innards were soon to unleash with molten horror, and he didn’t seem to care.

  “He’s been cursed!” Morigos exclaimed, his green runes now glowing brightly, his staff held high and leaking similarly colored vapors. “It is as I feared.”

  All looked grave.

  Drinwor knew something bad was about to happen. Oh, he could just feel it! A jolt of fear surged through him and this was now the last place on Phate he wanted to be.

  “Vu Verian!” Morning’s Hope called out. “We must leave!”

  Vu Verian still wouldn’t respond to her. He floated farther out over the clouds.

  “He’s not listening to us,” Morigos keenly observed.

  “Then by the Gods we’ll go get him,” the translucent dragon declared. “Morigos, assist me.”

  “No! I’ll never mingle with sky elven spirits!” Morigos pulled back on Fleeting Shadow’s reins.

  Morning’s Hope loosed some quick, sharp words in an ancient draconic dialect, and Fleeting Shadow immediately flew forward.

  “We’ll be glad to assist you!” Morigos said.

  Morning’s Hope flapped her wings, and both dragons coasted toward Vu Verian.

  Drinwor looked at the dead clouds and noticed a little ripple pass over each. The clouds billowed, then expanded upward and outward.

  “Morning’s Hope…”

  “I see it,” she responded, though her eyes were fixed solely on the sky elf.

  Suddenly, a lightning-like crack shot through the air, the temperature plummeted, and behold, the dead arose!

  “Morning’s Hope!” Drinwor yelled.

  The spectral corpses of a thousand long dead sky elves streamed like smoke from a fire as they climbed from their cloudy beds. They quickly formed into tall, greyish-black apparitions with wickedly-pointed ears and eyes that were sinisterly angled slits of flaring orange. Their arms grew overlong and their claws grew even longer, like sets of curving spectral blades, if you will. They had no legs; the clouds they formed from lengthened into shadowy tails that curled up behind them.

  “Away, away!” Morigos screamed, thrusting his staff down as Fleeting Shadow flew over them.

  “Careful!” Morning’s Hope warned, her stare never leaving Vu Verian as she flew closer to him.

  Now mouths broke open on the apparitions’ faces, mouths like crooked caverns filled with stalagmites of smoke. A low, breathy rasp came from each, and a thousand evil hisses joined as one.

  “They don’t seem happy to make our acquaintance,” Drinwor observed.

  “No, they certainly do not,” Morning’s Hope agreed.

  She reached Vu Verian and swung around in front of him. But the owl didn’t appear to notice her. His eyes were vacant and he seemed to be chattering to himself, his beak moving, but with no audible words. And now
the apparitions were on the move, closing in all around the companions. They lifted their cloudy claws, ready to reap whatever souls they could steal.

  Morning’s Hope shouted, “Vu Verian! Gain control of yourself!”

  Nothing. No response.

  Morigos cried, “He’s lost!”

  The apparitions drew in even closer, some putting themselves between the dragons and the owl. More hisses arose, and one swiped at Fleeting Shadow’s flank. The insect dragon let loose a high-pitched whine and, with wings buzzing, lifted himself higher into the air.

  Morning’s Hope was out of patience. This had gone on long enough.

  “Drinwor,” she cried, “be wary and hang on!” Then she dove straight for Vu Verian, slicing right through a score of apparitions and scattering their forms with the tip of her snout. They quickly reformed behind her, but not before she reached the sky elf owl. She slid her snout beneath him and heaved upward, unceremoniously catapulting him high into the air, far from the reach of the awakened dead. Then she exhaled with a satisfied but most un-dragon-like grunt.

  That task was finally done.

  “Watch out!”

  It was Drinwor. His high-pitched voice warned her of that which she was expecting—the reprisal. She swung her head around and saw the reformed specters gathering about her. The closest one swiped her with its long claws, cutting her just below the right eye. This seemed to spur the rest on, and they came at her in a charge.

  But Morning’s Hope wouldn’t have it.

  She thrust her wings down and twisted upward, her spaded tail whipping around, slashing the closest apparitions apart as she tore away from their grasp. She darted up past Fleeting Shadow, where Morigos was standing with his green glowing staff held high above his head. The dark elf mage was making magic, his voice humming like his dragon’s wings. He was about to unleash acidic fire!

  “No!” Morning’s Hope roared. “Not yet! Not here! Fly up, get over them!”

  Morigos’ spell trickled from the tip of his tongue and was lost. “Bah! You think we’ll escape to the moons?” He was then seated in his saddle as Fleeting Shadow leaped up after his translucent kin.

  Vu Verian seemed to finally break out of his trance when Morning’s Hope came blasting by him, yelling, “Up, up! Fly for the high sky!” He flashed a horrified look down, then immediately followed suit, dashing up behind the translucent dragon.

  The spectral corpses were right on their tails. With their hisses turned into snarls, they had merged into a heaving mass of snapping maws and swinging claws that was fast rising into the sky.

  The dragons and owl beat their wings with all they had. But compared to the speeds they had earlier achieved, it felt was as if they were barely moving. And now the air was thinning. It quickly went from cold to freezing, making it harder to breathe. Ice formed on the tips of their wings, but still they climbed higher and higher.

  Our Drinwor was pressed into the back of his saddle-throne, his chest heavy with what felt like the weight of a full night’s anxiety. Now forced to look straight up, his entire field of vision was filled with the Shards of Zyrinthia. They seemed so close! He could see through their fiery sheens, discern the craggy craters on their ruined husks. They truly were like moons on fire. For a moment he wondered if it was the Dark Forever already unleashed, spat from the pit of space to wreak its hellish havoc upon his beloved sky.

  He couldn’t bear it. He looked off to the side.

  They were so high now, the edge of the atmosphere looked like a horizon itself. “Oh…that didn’t help.” This was getting insane! How high were they going to go?

  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one wondering this, for Morigos called out, “Do you mean to take us into space?”

  “Perhaps!” Morning’s Hope replied. But then she pitched forward and leveled.

  Drinwor’s world tilted over and he thought he was going to be sick. But the feeling quickly passed, and he was able to reclaim some of the air that had been stolen from his icy lungs. They all came to a stop and hovered beside one another.

  Unholy cries came from below.

  The dead were flying up fast.

  Morigos pointed down, and said, “We’re trapped against the roof of the sky. Why did we ascend so?”

  “If they caught us in that swarm,” Morning’s Hope replied, “they would have torn us to pieces. They’re condensed now, we can destroy them!”

  Drinwor looked at her with a modicum of surprise. For some reason, he never thought he’d see her so adamantly fixed on another’s destruction. Her blue-green eyes lit like a warrior’s as she shouted, “We must dive! Straight down! Dive at them!”

  Vu Verian looked on her with shock. “What?”

  “Do it!” she cried. Then she rolled forward and streamlined her wings. “Hold on, my Emperor!”

  “Oh, I am,” Drinwor assured, his hands sore from clenching the arms of the saddle-throne, his ankles firmly secured in the sorcerous straps.

  Morigos cackled, coughed, and whispered: “Again I lock stares with death…”

  “Dive! Dive!” Morning’s Hope commanded.

  And dive they did, the dragons and owl pitching over and shooting straight down, Drinwor shouting, “Wooooah!” over the winds.

  “Here they come!” Morigos yelled.

  The thousand cursed sky elf spirits came roaring upward like a screaming spectral spear intent on impaling the companions upon the moons! Drinwor thought if they were to collide, all the skies would explode.

  Morning’s Hope looked out to her right and yelled, “Morigos, douse them in fire!” Then she looked out left. “Vu Verian, unleash whatever volatile sorcery you have!”

  Vu Verian shook his head. He screamed, “I cannot! I cannot!” over the deafening winds.

  “Do what I tell you! Release these people from pain!”

  “These people have no heaven to go to!”

  “Neither do we! Do it NOW!”

  Certain impact was imminent, Drinwor hunched down, lifted his hands in front of his face…

  But then the dragons and elves released their magical might.

  Morigos was the first to fire.

  Screaming his scabrous song of sorcery, the tip of his staff ignited in a blaze of dark green flames that shot down and slathered the spectral corpses in a crackling acidic coat.

  Fleeting Shadow came spiraling down behind the burst, breathing his own salvo, a spewed fountain of red fire that scorched apparitions already engulfed in Morigos’ broiling wrath.

  And then Morning’s Hope unleashed her barrage.

  Drinwor had seen it brewing right under his feet, for moments before, her innards had begun to glow. Now her entire body lit up as she spit a dense, electrified burst of white energy. Thick as an oak’s trunk, the beam blasted right through the center of the spectral mass with all the power of a sorcerous storm! Its effects were devastating. The burning apparitional geyser ruptured. The dead sky elves were blown into sparking strands. The explosion seemed to fill the entire sky and the ensuing tormented screams pierced all their ears.

  Drinwor was amazed and mortified.

  So, this was the unbridled power of a Greater Translucent Dragon!

  After unleashing their barrages, the dragons twisted over and veered out to opposite sides, avoiding the exploding mass.

  Unable to come to grips with firing on his own people, Vu Verian had hesitated. He hadn’t unleashed sorcery, nor had he adjusted his course. Now it was too late to avoid the explosion. With no alternative, he tucked his wings in and shot straight down, blue energy beams passing from his irises into the air, vaporizing his tears as they came. Although he justified in his mind that his beams were purely defensive, they were nonetheless quite potent. As they surged into the remaining apparitions, the sky elf ghosts spewed their last curses at him before their very souls were vaporized.

  Vu Verian was horrified.

  The burning souls of his brethren screamed as they perished all around him. He screamed himself just to
silence their cries. He felt the sting of sorcery, the heat of his own fires, but came out of the bottom of the fiery mass virtually unscathed.

  Only his heart had been wounded, and ever would those cries echo in his memory.

  He flew to Morning’s Hope, and Fleeting Shadow flew to them. Together they all watched as a last series of little explosions dissipated and died.

  The sky elf apparitions were gone.

  Drinwor was panting, his heart racing. Despite countless hours of sparring against sorcerously animated foes, he’d never before been involved in any sort of actual combat. He swallowed hard, clutched his chest, and breathed in deeply, trying to control his adrenaline.

  Morning’s Hope heard his sighs. “My Lord?”

  Drinwor lifted his head. Through his gasping, he said, “I’m fine… I just need a minute…a minute to calm down.”

  “We have some power among us,” Morigos noted.

  “We have nothing,” Vu Verian said, his glazed eyes staring aside.

  Morning’s Hope shook her head with exasperation. “We must be more careful. I must be more careful. This whole ordeal was foolish, reckless. We need no such unwarranted expeditions. We risk so much.”

  They hovered in a silence for a minute, all eyes slowly drifting to the Great White Owl. Vu Verian noticed them and whispered, “No one need say anything. I was charmed, yes, but I let myself be so.” He looked to Morning’s Hope. “They welcomed me. They spoke to me with voices I’ve not heard in a thousand years. It was them.”

  “It was not them.” Morning’s Hope said firmly, “It was a fouled, haunted shadow of what they once were, my friend.”

  Vu Verian shook his head in disagreement. “Oh, it was them. I could sense them struggling to break through the barriers that block their ascension to the Seven Glories. I tried to tell them…tell them that the way to heaven is closed, but they refused to listen. They were cursed, yes, and in confusion turned malicious, but there was no evil there.” He turned to Morigos. “I hope you delighted in dousing them in fire.”