Mistress Alyendra could have maintained her song until the stars above dimmed, shrinking in upon themselves to darkness or exploding outward into light.
I could not.
Afraid for my life, unsure where any further threats might lie in wait, I cut across the mountains in a blaze of harmonic intention, moving erratically to cover my direction and mask my purpose.
I knew the lands of the dragons were near when greenery began appearing on the slopes ahead.
As soon as I reached the first scattered pockets of vegetation, I collapsed in exhaustion, unable to continue forward, my heart a hammer keeping time with my fears.
The Dragon’s Teeth, the mighty mountain range that took up the preponderance of the southern reaches of Maeron, had once been a home to unrivaled living communities. From elfin forests and alpine meadows near the mountain peaks to lush jungles and rich cloud forests, there had been more variety hidden in the folds of these peaks than almost anywhere else.
Now they were as empty as a desert.
Drained of life and energy by the demonic plague sweeping outward from the Chaos Gate, there was little left of this once unequalled bounty.
Except in the lands of the dragons and elementals.
Like Kun’Daer, the homelands of these two mighty races were now shrinking oases in a vast, encroaching desert.
Lying on the ground, my eyes unfocused, I stared at the sky above, images of home flashing through my mind—the crystalline halls, the stone gardens, the water parks, the green spaces intermingled with the lush music of people’s shimmering lives dancing through the city’s flowing facets.
Now I was surrounded by dross, the tailings of an evil race that left only ashes and decay in its wake.
Ahead, in the verdant peaks, lay hope and the memory of what was past.
But it might also hold promise for the future.
For, if the demons could be cleansed, the homes of the elementals and dragons, those refuges that had held out for so long against demonic incursion, could help reseed the Uërth.
And so could Kun’Daer.
And one small girl who saw opportunity in each.
Dust on the Horizon
There was movement in the distance, a flash of light and resonance.
Luecaeus sensed it as surely as a coming storm.
In fact, it was a storm of sorts.
A fury of sound and movement.
He felt the thunderous crash and crescendo of its inner workings, the mighty clamor of its many-aspected longruen.
Or it might have been a young, living, fluid-filled receptacle.
Or both.
And more.
Perhaps like his wera’dun.
Maeraeth had only recently left him, thankfully without popping or leaking onto the earthen substrate.
In fact, his wera’dun was here even now, his dyunda scintillating all around as surely as the sun.
Luecaeus basked in his glow.
Perhaps this guraem glowed as well.
He would have to look.
Wakening
Had I been asleep?
Had running away from the demons cost me that much?
How would I ever make Kerraboer if fleeing from but a few infernals was more exertion than I could handle?
Was I just exhausted and overwrought from all the pent-up anxiety of making my Choice?
Had singing a song of life to sustain the stream taken so much of mine?
Regardless of the reason, I would have to do far better if I was to ever have a hope of reaching the safety of the Empyrean Knights’ fastness.
I began to sit up and thought better of it. I felt too lightheaded to do more for the moment.
Instead, I lay on the ground and breathed, letting my breath steady me, its rhythm an anchor lending me stability while I recovered. When I felt grounded enough to rouse, I tried sitting again.
This time, I did much better.
The air was surprisingly warm on my skin. Uërth’s exhalation, the susurration of the air, blended with the rustle of the moving plants and the tranquility of the landscape.
I could feel the character and tenor of the place. Though far from whole, the land here was much richer than that through which I had come, and this was reflected in the complexity of its song.
I let this music wash over me before gradually opening my eyes.
Finally, through half-lidded eyes still heavy with sleep, I gazed around my resting spot.
Though barren, the environs here held some sparse vegetation—mostly low-lying shrubs and grasses—that had resisted the demonic blight, a few exposed rocks, and a small floating boulder.
Nothing extraordinary, but special for its ordinariness, given what lay beyond the boundaries of this protected land.
A floating boulder?
I jumped to my feet, drawing my staff in a motion far quicker and smoother than I would have anticipated.
At first glance, the floating rock looked harmless, benign even, but one could never rely solely on first impressions in a world overrun by demons.
Despite my initial alarm and the continued rapid beating of my heart, I sensed no cause for apprehension. In fact, there was a certain clarity, exaltation, and complexity of tone about this simple floating rock that was almost angelic.
The rock gave a brief bob as I examined it more closely, the modest motion singing to me in a way that was entirely unexpected. The simple gesture brought coruscating echoes of harmonic resonances, tones and timbres I had never before heard or felt.
This plain rock was not at all what it seemed.
The rock floated in rarefied air, for the song of its soul resounded in ways that I would only expect from a master djen’caer or an elevated being touched by Light.
My fear and concern falling away, I bowed my head in reply to the stone’s innocuous bob as I examined it more closely.
The rock sang of the earth and its spirit.
It mourned the loss of what had been and sought after what could and should be.
Its refrain was as deep and grounded as the earth itself, as wide and just as firm.
It spoke of the coolness of the shadows, the secrets of lost recesses, the heat and fires of rebirth, the stillness of death and endings, and the quickening promise of new beginnings.
Its voice echoed with the dripping waters of stalactites falling on stalagmites, of the shifting of tectonic plates, and the settling of water and stone.
Its voice was old and well-seasoned, a chorus of many similar spirits made manifest.
I could spend lifetimes listening to its song and perhaps never hear the same notes again, nor would I learn all its secrets.
Its voice was that of a friend, and I was willing to listen.
Still holding my staff, now held relaxed in one hand, I offered an introduction. “I am Ilya of Kun’Daer, and your voice is my pleasure to hear.”
The stone’s attitude shifted, though no outward motion was visible.
To me, the motion, the secret sounds of its soul, intoned, “I hear your words, young one. Your heart-essence sings with the heights of the heavens and the depths of the sea. I hear your words and know them to be true.
“You are as welcome as a new day and as refreshing as a night’s refrain.
“I am called Lucius by your kind, though you may call me otherwise if you so choose.”
At least that is what I felt.
I heard no arguments with my interpretation.
Least of all from the stone.
But, then again, he did not strike me as the kind to argue.
Especially over trivialities.
“Lucius, we are well met. I am glad to make your acquaintance.”
I spoke honestly, for the presence of a living rock, what could only be an elemental, was a welcome sign. Not only was I on the right track, but the lands must be relatively free of demons, for elementals were the natural enemies of infernals.
Lucius’ presence offered a measure of safety and reassuranc
e in a land filled with neither.
Lucius moved slightly in the air before me, the facets of his simple gray surface shifting liquidly for a moment, shimmering in the air, granting a brief glimpse, perhaps, into the luster within.
I seemed to have gotten his name right, at least.
“Would you care to join me for a time?
“I am off to the lands of the dragons and elementals before heading beyond.
“You are welcome to come with me so long as your path and purpose lead in a similar direction.”
Apparently Lucius’ path and purpose intersected mine, for he floated over beside me as I began to walk toward the heart of the lush mountains ahead.
I was happier for the company than I had imagined possible.
A Living Sea
Energies of potential, of the land expressing itself, of possibility crystallizing into actuality, moved about him.
He coursed through these energies at ease, for, as much as the land and sky, they were his element.
Seeking to manifest her element and express her nature most fortuitously, the guraem stood evaluating her surroundings.
A few moments passed before she recognized his presence.
When his intrinsic nature became apparent to her and she realized that he was not a threat, the small ocean of living ideation sloshed forward toward him gracefully, bowing as she introduced herself.
The movements of her body, just like the movements of her voice, made beautiful music.
As a guraem, her transitory nature, at once fragile and simultaneously universal, was filled with the majesty and grandeur of the heavens, echoing with the music of the spheres. In body and voice, her celestial nature shone forth.
Luecaeus’ appraisal complete, he gave a slight nod of satisfaction as he bowed in turn.
This mortal would do nicely.
What, exactly, she would do was up to her.
Whatever that might be, he was here to help.
For helping was what he did.
A Corresponding Note
I listened to Lucius’ song, for his voice was that of the world.
If I could spread that music across the land and sea, then Uërth would be renewed with each note, for his voice was life and its unfolding.
How could I do this?
How could I help restore Uërth to her past glories?
How could I help rejuvenate her spirit and vitality?
How could I share Lucius’ song with all the world and everyone in it?
With only one Voice, how could I hope to make such an impact?
How could I make Uërth herself listen when the demonic plague had robbed her of much of her faculties and strength?
There had to be a way.
And I would find it.
Green Waves
Never having seen the ocean in person, I felt like I had been trekking across the endless windswept sands of a trackless desert, finally coming within sight of the sea, my pulse rising in anticipation of a welcome swim within its lustrous depths.
The sere lands behind me transitioned to monumental green waves ahead, lands filled with the depth and richness of a verdant ocean. Stopped in time mid-break, the clouds cloaking the mighty mountains’ crests frothed and roiled, the sea foam churning above the lush surfaces of the standing waves only hinting at the wonders hidden below.
These peaks represented an ocean of life that I hoped would flood across Uërth once more, crashing over the barren lands and refilling them with the vibrant songs and choruses of living creatures.
My voice would join their chorus and help the world grow anew.
Beside me, Lucius floated impassively, the grandeur of his initial song stilled, settling as naturally into the landscape as the earth itself.
Though we were walking in outward silence, the world around us was far from quiet.
From the gentle susurration of the dirt shifting beneath my feet to the wind tickling the smooth chambers of my ear canals, the world was alive in song. Vibrations, resonances, and waves moved all around and within us, enmeshing us in music far more majestic than anything a mortal voice could produce. Though the rise and fall of my own voice was but a dim shadow of the universal refrain, I added to this wonder nonetheless, my small song enriching this fluid composition along with all the others.
For his part, Lucius appeared to be a very adept listener.
Was he a guardian of this place, an elemental stationed on the boundary of the elementals’ lands to prevent demonic infiltration?
How many other rocks scattered in the dirt shared Lucius’ animation and purpose?
Studying the landscape around me, I could sense what I thought might be others similar to Lucius, though their music was slowed, somnolent. Their glacial harmonics moved in time with those of the Uërth itself.
What would be required to rouse these sleeping stones?
How fearsome would their wakening be?
Should they all arise, with so many voices raised in chorus, even legions of demons would fall to the ground under the sonic assault.
Or so I thought.
“Are you one of the guardians of the elemental realm, Lucius?”
His reply was noncommittal, a barely perceptible motion, his internal echoes remaining quiet.
A partial acknowledgement, perhaps?
A comment on such an obligation?
“You are a guardian of the land itself?”
He gave a quick flick and a brief, resonant oscillation.
I would take that as a yes.
This was a stronger reply than the first, but there was more.
Half-jokingly, I asked, “Are you an elemental knight, wandering the lands righting wrongs and questing for your intended purpose?”
Another weave, this one slightly more pronounced, his essence echoing with the clarion toll of a bell.
Surprising.
Not only that my guess was close, but at his purpose.
Not sure what to expect, I ventured, “Are you an elemental Empyrean Knight?”
He bobbed up and down emphatically, constructively interfering echoes enveloping me as they built to a rousing crescendo.
This was laughter, full and whole-hearted, but it was also closer to his purpose.
Lucius finally ended his bout of humor with what I would guess was the elemental equivalent of a noncommittal shrug.
I think my guess was close enough.
If so, I did not want to interfere with some mission of grave importance.
I had no idea what quests would drive elementals.
Given their long-standing enmity with demons on Uërth and beyond, I had no idea what those missions might entail.
Since I was already pushing the bounds of decorum, I asked, “Am I delaying or interfering with one of your pursuits? If you need to be elsewhere, I do not wish to hinder your efforts in any way.”
Again he laughed, finishing with a short, emphatic sweep, almost like a dismissal. I did not need to read the echoes of his essence to see that Lucius did not feel I was a nuisance.
Or that I was interfering with anything.
If he was a knight errant, would he be interested in joining me on my quest?
Would risking the question be an imposition?
Would my quest hold his interest?
Would my desire be worthy of a questing elemental?
I had little to lose.
I knew it was perhaps naïve, I felt that it was premature, and I understood that I knew little of Lucius or his motives, but I sensed deep down that Lucius might make a good partner on my trip to Kerraboer.
For some odd reason, I trusted Lucius, though I hardly knew him. He felt like an old friend whom I had just met after a long separation, one whose path had just happened to cross mine again at a most fortuitous moment.
I trusted my instincts, for instincts were the window into magic, following possibility where it might lead into actuality by fits and starts.
My instincts leaped forward, and I move
d with them.
I took a deep breath and asked, “I hope you do not find this presumptuous, but would you consider joining me on my quest to restore the land’s voice?
By way of explanation, I added, “I am journeying to Kerraboer to see how I may return life to the land, to help rid the world of the demonic blight.”
As much as I might feel a bit silly and immature asking such a question of an entity I had only just met, invoking such an obligation of a relative stranger, one whose story probably involved the world’s very origins, the question just seemed right.
I knew not why, but I sensed this sentiment to be right and true.
Lucius stopped.
He did not move in reply as he had before.
I could feel his awareness weighing on me, the brunt of his attention a well-channeled torrent, only scary when it broke the banks and washed me away. There was no rancor or malice in his scrutiny, just a steady evaluation, as in a weighing of scales.
I knew not what he saw or looked for, but his observance was a crescendo that threatened to sweep me away if held overlong.
After long moments that I later realized must have only been seconds, Lucius gave a simple bounce in the air, jaunty and carefree, as if the momentous weight of his decision was but a light burden that he had now cast aside.
In that moment, I knew not how, but I understood that Lucius would join me in my quest, for his purpose aligned with and approved of mine.
I do not know how had I managed to get so lucky, to find a guardian of the land to accompany me, but Lucius’ presence was a gift as great as any I had ever received.
And for that I was thankful.
So I told him, as was proper, “Thank you, Lucius.”
I could have said far more, but I sensed Lucius knew as much of my feelings as I knew of his, if not more.
And I understood that he, too, was thankful.
A Visitor
We walked in companionable silence for much of the day.
As the lands grew lusher, I began to feel more and more secure, the distance between us and the impoverished, demon-filled desert growing with each step.
Legacy of the Blade: The Complete Trilogy Page 39