Phate

by Jason Alan

  Drinwor was profoundly taken in by it all. “I did not know such places existed,” he uttered, for he could contain his reverent silence no longer.

  “There is more,” said Morning’s Hope, “the most fascinating landscapes lay ahead. You will see.”

  Drinwor, craning his neck to see everything, uttered, “Such a shame to see so much ruin and emptiness. I can only imagine the beauty these lands must have once held.”

  “Then imagine all you can,” Morning’s Hope said, “for imagination is the foundation of hope and progress. If something can be dreamed of, then it can be so. Yes, Drinwor, as Emperor, see not a ruined city as a thing abandoned, but as a city that might one day thrive!”

  Drinwor smiled. “Do you always speak so hopefully?”

  “Would it befit me not to, named as I am?”

  Drinwor laughed. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. I’m glad that you do.”

  “Good! Then I shall never stop.” She paused, tilted her head, and said, “I truly believe hope shines brightest where it is most dark.”

  “And what hope do I have?” Vu Verian wondered aloud. His words came as a surprise, for he hadn’t spoken since the confrontation with the sky elf spirits. Now his flight path had wandered him close to his companions, and he looked on Morning’s Hope with vacant eyes, eyes whose blue had fled with the sky’s and fallen grey.

  “You have the same hope that we all do,” Morning’s Hope declared, “that you will serve the Son and Savior of the Stars well and, by doing so, secure the safety of the universe. That is your hope.”

  “Then that is all that I have,” Vu Verian stated, his eyes further dimming.

  “Then you are lucky,” Morning’s Hope said, her eyes brightening, “for you have more than most.”

  Vu Verian slowly nodded. “I suppose I do.”

  Fleeting Shadow flitted up beside them, taking position just off the translucent’s right flank, opposite of Vu Verian.

  Morigos was standing in his saddle, pointing his staff down. He was shaking, and his grating voice flew like a crow from his cowl. “What hope can we have for a land that melts beneath us! Look!”

  They all looked down.

  Astonishingly, the dark elf’s claim wasn’t far from true. Past the edge of Cygorgia’s ruins, where the plateau’s rocky features flattened, some strange substance gushed from numerous fissures in the ground. The substance spread out for miles, covering all the eastern section of the uplifted plains. It issued like something molten, but the air above it was cool. The companions flew down, skimmed its surface, the dragons nearly dipping their wings in its flows. Upon closer inspection, the substance looked like a viscous vapor; it was bluish-white, yellow flecked, and glinting like a lake beneath a noonday sun. A metallic scent stole into their nostrils and Drinwor felt a tingle of energy course through him. “What is this?” he asked.

  “It is called Syrox,” Morning’s Hope answered.

  “I’ve been to eastern Volcar,” Morigos said, “but have never seen this. What sort of sorcery produced this place?”

  “That’s exactly what it is,” Morning’s Hope remarked, “pure sorcery.”

  “I don’t understand what I’m looking at,” Drinwor said. “It’s like a misty morning sky crawling across the ground, or like what Morigos said—the land melting…”

  Morning’s Hope pointed down with her foreclaw. “What you see is sorcery in one of its rawest forms. Essentially, Syrox is an abandoned mine of magic, created by wizards who long ago passed through the gates to the Seven Glories. Now unattended, the magical ore flows freely.”

  “Can it be harnessed?” Morigos asked, seemingly enthralled with the possibility.

  Morning’s Hope shook her head. “No. At least not by any means that I’m aware of. And it would take a tremendous amount of this substance to affect even the smallest incantations, anyway.” She went on to explain, “Taking into account that Phate was constructed by sorcery, the Wizards of Syrox were attempting to mine magic right out of the ground. But they soon discovered that this flowing ore was diluted, not very potent. No, true sorcery has always come from within, from our spirits drawing power from beyond the physical planes of the universe, filtering it through our hearts, and releasing it with a song. The wizards were weak of heart, their magical voices feeble. They thought Syrox would empower them, but, for the most part, they failed.”

  “For the most part...” Morigos echoed, waiting for some additional explanation.

  “Well, they did succeed in one thing,” Morning’s Hope added.

  “Well? What would that be?” the mage impatiently inquired.

  “Although the wizards failed in their pursuit of power, they inadvertently provided Phate with one of its more spectacular features. Come, I will show you!” And with that, Morning’s Hope accelerated toward the edge of the plateau.

  Drinwor was mildly unnerved, for it rather looked like they’d come to the end of the world. The plateau ended abruptly, the edge looming in the near distance like a horizon itself, with nothing but a greyish-purple void beyond.

  Morning’s Hope came up to the edge and dove over the side, her companions following suit. They swung out, banked around, and she called out, “Behold, the Phantom Falls!”

  And lo, the Son and Savior of the Stars saw that indeed, all beauty and might had not fled these barren lands!

  As tall and broad as a mountain range, the Phantom Falls spanned the entire eastern side of the plateau. The vaporous ore fell down for many miles, cascading over a series of massive ledges before finally splashing into a little sea far below. The Phantom Falls were so huge, they dwarfed the Cliffs of Moaning Wishes. In fact, the whole scene was so vast, it was difficult for Drinwor to comprehend, and a touch of lightheadedness swayed him in his saddle-throne. He thought his earlier impression was accurate, for indeed it looked as if a glittering ocean was spilling over the very edge of the world.

  Morning’s Hope guided the group right in front of the flows, and they were all sprayed with sparkling flecks of silver and gold. “Drinwor,” she called back, “look through the gaps in the flows.”

  Drinwor peered through the spaces in the falls. At first it was difficult to discern what he viewed, but little by little he came to realize that an entire nation had been carved into the black crystal undercutting. Each tremendous shelf was a city in itself; a sprawling complex of onyx towers, ebony chapels and night stone keeps. Palaces were embedded in the ledges’ sidewalls, their curved spires slicing through the magical fluid and segmenting it into thousands of individual falls. Every structure glittered with every splash, and Drinwor thought the whole realm might have been pulled from some heavenly God’s starry dream.

  But for all its splendor, it was lifeless. No beings were about. No activity could be detected. The shelf-cities were suffused with that eerie hollowness that seems to haunt all abandoned places to some degree. But the emptiness only intensified Drinwor’s fascination with the place, made him wonder about the inhabitants’ fate.

  “This is incredible,” he said. “I’m guessing the wizards lived here?”

  “Yes,” Morning’s Hope replied. She slowed to a hover, the others flying right up to her side. “They literally showered themselves in their ore; although, in their time, long ago, the falls weren’t much stronger than a light mist.”

  “How many wizards were there?” Drinwor couldn’t help asking questions; it was such a curiously astounding sight!

  “Millions,” his dragon replied, “perhaps more, before they were defeated by—”

  “The Dark Forever,” Morigos finished.

  Drinwor frowned. “Is there any place on Phate that hasn’t been annihilated by the Dark Forever?”

  “No,” Vu Verian quipped, “even in the throes of defeat, the Dark Forever managed to devastate nearly all of our world’s cultures and history.”

  “What the Wizards of Syrox lacked in sorcerous skill,” Morning’s Hope said, “they more than made up for in numbers—or so they thoug
ht. The demons wiped them out in seconds.”

  Drinwor whistled. “Millions, wiped out in seconds, you say…”

  Morigos pointed at the falls. “Perhaps they should have imbibed the stuff rather than bathed in it!”

  Morning’s Hope shook her head and sighed.

  “Perhaps you should be quiet,” Vu Verian suggested.

  “Perhaps!” Morigos cackled, “But then I’d be as boring as a sky elf! If—”

  “Enough, you two,” Morning’s Hope interjected.

  The mages glared at each other, but no more words were exchanged. Morning’s Hope, satisfied with their silence, beckoned them all to move on.

  They coasted down, glided over the cities, fully imbuing themselves in the splashing sorcery’s glittering spray.

  “Worry not, Drinwor,” said Morning’s Hope, “it is harmless!” Now she looked much the same as when she had first risen into the morning sky. Her translucent body lit as if a thousand fireflies buzzed inside her, her heart their glowing hive. All the companions’ appearances were affected. Vu Verian’s feathers looked as if they were gilded with metallic gold. Fleeting Shadow’s wingtips left a sparkling little trail. Even Morigos’ ruined robes were enlivened with balmy light, their green runes alive with uncharacteristic brightness.

  But Drinwor Fang outshone them all.

  His silver hair might have been silver fire, and his eyes, oh, how they blazed! Even his smoky skin was luminous; he looked as if a scintillating veil had been pulled tight about his face. His black demonskin gleamed and its blue sigils blazed. Had he reached into his leg pouch, he would have found the Sunsword beaming like a hilt of solid light. As it was, its radiance seeped through his legging.

  Magical beings on a world where sorcery overflowed, the companions shone as beacons of hope in the imaginative eyes of the universe…

  As they continued to glide down, a welcoming calmness came over Drinwor. For although he felt the hollowness of the shelf-cities, there was also a peace and serenity about the place. The flecks of magic chimed like quiet little bells over the hushed whisper of the splashing flows. The soothing sound settled the more nettled parts of his spirit.

  He leaned forward, called out, “I’ll be very disappointed if this place turns out be cursed.”

  “No, I promise you, this place is a blessing.” Morning’s Hope returned. “Although it’s just an accidental byproduct of the wizards’ failed efforts, Syrox has turned out to be a beautiful memorial to a world that once was. Yes, all of Phate used to be like this—beautiful, magical, serene. That was a long time ago…a long time…” She turned her head, flashed Drinwor a little smile.

  Her features glinted, and Drinwor caught a glimpse of her expression. Her eyes were bright and wide, but sad. He could only imagine the memories that were now flowing through her mind.

  Out of the blue, he asked, “Did my father ever see this place?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, “he spent some time here, actually. It was a place of contemplation for him, a retreat of sorts.”

  Drinwor nodded, whispered: “Good, good.”

  A raspy cough from nearby broke the serenity and warned them that Morigos was about to speak. Fleeting Shadow drew close to Morning’s Hope, and Morigos said, “Forgive me for interrupting such sentimentalities, but our destination awaits, and we should pick up the pace.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” Vu Verian snapped from aside.

  “We wouldn’t want you to disappear into cloudform before we even arrive at the hall, would we, now?” Morigos retorted.

  Vu Verian scowled. “I’m sure you’d like nothing more, but what care you how fast we go?”

  Morigos said nothing to this.

  “Come on!” urged Vu Verian, “out with it!”

  Morigos shrugged. “Well, I didn’t want to say anything after what happened in the high sky, but if you must know, I think we should leave because I believe that here, too, we are not alone.” Now his cowl was aimed upward, his hidden eyes staring into the falls, far, far above. “I’m afraid this place is not so serene as it seems, and ever will we travel with curses in tow. Something trails us. I’m almost certain.”

  “Oh, stop this ceaseless torment of me!” Vu Verian demanded.

  “What trails us?” Morning’s Hope straightened her neck, tried to aim her gaze and pinpoint the exact location where Morigos stared.

  “I do not know,” Morigos replied, “but I saw a shadow not of natural making move amongst the onyx towers on our way down. I saw it move forward. It made a small distortion that disturbed the otherwise smooth falling ore; and for a moment I felt cold, like when we used to conjure up old Kroon ghosts.”

  “More ghosts?” Drinwor cringed at the thought. “So much for feeling pleasant!”

  Morning’s Hope looked all around, but could see nothing. “It is quite possible some ghosts may be about, but I wouldn’t worry, for not all who have passed from life are rife with malcontent.”

  “Think of the sky elf clouds, dragon.” Morigos looked Morning’s Hope straight in the eye. “Something tracks us.”

  Inwardly, Morning’s Hope agreed with the dark elf’s assessment, or, at least, she reluctantly acknowledged that it was a distinct possibility. But she saw no point in further belaboring the issue, for her companions were spooked enough, and there was nothing to be done without delaying their quest. It was getting late and they still had some distance to travel. Who knew what lay in store, and what other obstacles awaited?

  She gave Morigos a frustrated little look that sat somewhere between agreement and incredulity, and said, “Worry not, for if indeed something trails us, I shall be aware. Now let us be on our way.”

  And with that, she glided forward and led them down over the last ledge, which passed them through the spray caused by the falls’ final splash into the waiting sea. When they moved out of the spray, all their countenances dimmed to normalness.

  To Drinwor’s surprise, the sea of magical vapor that caught the falls was perfectly still and smooth. Beyond where the falls splashed into it, nary a ripple marred its glossy surface. It was like gazing at the reflection of a clear blue sky in a mirror. Looking out to either side, he concluded that it was more like a wide river than a sea. It snaked the whole length of the falls—well, at least as far as he could see, anyway, which was quite far. He wondered…

  “The Syroxian Sea,” Morning’s Hope said. “That’s what it’s called.”

  “Ah,” was all the dusk elf gave in response. She is something, this dragon! He shook his head and looked forward.

  They flew across the far shore, and an entirely different environment unraveled beneath them.

  Now below were rolling fields of tall silken grass. Although residing in the Phantom Fall’s far-reaching shadow, the grass was shiny and bright, imbuing the fields with a liveliness Drinwor hadn’t perceived in any other landscape. The surrounding air was rich and nourishing; the wind didn’t blow so much as it breathed. As the owl and dragons swept low over the grasses, the blades bowed like a crowd of peasants before the passing of royalty.

  And beyond was an even greater greenery.

  In the near distance lay a vast forest of lush evergreens, their boughs abundant with natural green leaves and spotted with a spectrum of sorcerously colored ones as well. Standing tall and straight, the trees loomed like the guardians of the fields. The companions flew toward them, then soared up over their crowns. They were so numerous, so dense! Drinwor envisioned them as the younger, more energetic brethren of the trees in the Forest of Chanting Angels.

  The fields, the trees—this whole country had…a soul? Yes, there was a presence here, a vitality that belied the otherwise dead landscapes that encapsulated most of Volcar. Drinwor realized he had felt this presence many times before back home in Areshria. He had become aware of it on those solitary afternoons when he’d stood on his terrace and gazed at the clouds. There had been a presence there, too, though until this moment he’d never thought of it like that.r />
  “There’s something about this place that reminds me of the sky,” Drinwor called to his dragon. “It’s almost as if the forest is alive.”

  “Oh, indeed it is,” Morning’s Hope said. “It is the soul of nature you feel. Although Phate was constructed by sorcery, much of its surface was imbued with natural life.” She swung her head about, and took in all the landscape. “Yes, there’s a presence in this forest and behind us in those fields. Unfortunately, places like these are rare now. Most natural forests have been destroyed by war, or slain for evil means.”

  Drinwor pondered for a moment, then asked, “Is the sky connected to the forest in some way?”

  “Most definitely,” Morning’s Hope affirmed. “Everything in the world is connected, everything in the galaxy. The land and sky and even the sun and stars are all one. In essence, the whole universe is one flowing entity.”

  “And we are all a part of it,” Vu Verian added, “a part of the universe.”

  “Yes,” Morning’s Hope concurred, “all of us bonded together in life, charged with the guardianship of one another’s souls.” She looked to the sky and saw the blurry glare of the shards shining through some low-flying rain clouds. “Though so many have forgotten…”

  Morigos emitted his usual uncouth noises that warned everyone he was about to speak, but Morning’s Hope flashed him her now recognizable look that warned she was going to shut him up. He took the hint, and said nothing (for now), and Vu Verian said nothing more.

  Drinwor stayed quiet, too, but thought he could faintly hear some windy voice in his head, as if the spirit of the world was whispering to him. He froze, suddenly afflicted with the idea that it was Morigos’ specter, who was hot on their tail. He twisted round, peered behind them, but could see nothing save the features from whence they came. The falls loomed like a great dark wall, and the skies above the fields and forest were barren of all but the wind and clouds. It was nothing, he mused, just a byproduct of his overactive imagination.