Rynnth shrieked and roared, breathing flame onto Kimtor’s shield, taking his braids, burning his arm, and melting his armor into his flesh. She stopped as the axes from a gray minotaur chopped into her back. She felt the horned one run up her spine, then cleaved steel into her neck twice more. Saberrak roared, driving both axes down into the back of her skull. She shook ferociously, throwing the minotaur off. Saberrak leapt, landing into the opposing slope and sliding down to charge again. Rynnth shook again, dazed, blood puring over her horned nose and melted eye socket.
Kimotor dropped the sword, grabbed the spear, and pulled it out of her. Rynnth screamed and hissed, pain waking her fully once more. She breathed fire again, his bronze shield melted, his arm had a black skeleton for a hand that used to hold the shield, and Kimtor roared as his body burned. He plunged the spear into her chest just as she bit into his good shoulder, flames shooting out the sides of her mouth, now out of a bronze filled hole below her chest as well.
The pain from them both tore them in two directions as instinct took over. The dragon flew up, pulling the spear from her own chest and dropping it to the valley floor, the arm of Kimtor Seven-teeth still in her mouth. Her blood poured like rain onto Deadman’s Pass. Rynnth’s balance was wobbly, she crashed into the mountaintops twice in her flight south and dropped the ripped off arm of the giant. Twitching, dying, roaring and trying to fly away, Rynnth disappeared south into the Misathi.
Saberrak lowered his axes but five feet from the giant. He looked up as Kimtor hit his knees. One arm was gone, taken by the dragon and pouring blood down his side. The other was but bone with bronze melded to it. His face was scratched and bloody, hair burned off and helmet smoldering. Kimtor and Saberrak watched as the dragon fell from their sight. The eldest giant son looked to his dead brother Eybrol, then to the gray minotaur. He said little.
“Take my fathers’ spear and the fangs from around my neck.”
Saberrak walked in front of him, head low, and picked up the spear. He looked up, his eyes now glowing blue unbeknownst to him. He met the fading gaze of an old giant, holding himself up at an open window. Saberrak stared up at the old titan nearly four times his height, he felt no fear, and he received a nod from the old one as the clouds covered the floating fortress and it faded away.
The giant nodded to his father as well. Then his blue eyes stared into the glowing blues of the little horned warrior that held his fathers’ spear. “What is your name, brave minotaur.”
“Saberrak Agrannar.” Saberrak knew this giant wanted his honor, and a quick clean death, he aimed the tip of the giant spear toward the heart to end his suffering.
“Agrannar? Good name…good name. I am ready.”
Saberrak ran five steps, reached, and plunged the spear through Kimtor’s chest and out the other side.
Crash
He let go as the giant fell over onto the other one, dead. Saberrak looked up to the westward clouds, then to the south where the dragon had gone. All was quiet. Saberrak reached under the bronze armor, melted and twisted, and pulled off the necklace with seven dragon fangs. He put it on. The minotaur picked up Gwenne’s staff and walked slow back north to his friends, head low and looking to the ground.
Gwenneth looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. Her body ached from all the power it had channeled. She saw James, Shinayne, and Zen. She tried to stand, but sat up instead. Her head was dizzy. She saw Saberrak walking toward her, the staff of Imoch in his hand.
“It is done then? It is over?” Gwenneth smiled seeing Saberrak alive and in one piece.
“It is, thanks to you.” Saberrak looked around. He saw the dead robed man, the dead Mogi giants, even the red minotaur had been slain. Smoke rose from the pit and the red rock in several places.
“The dragon?” Shinayne sat quietly next to Gwenne, her voice not much more than a whisper from the red minotaurs’ stranglehold.
“Dead or dying, its wounds were lethal and many.” Saberrak looked south.
“And the two giants, the ones from the clouds?” Zen asked.
“Dead.” Saberrak glanced to James.
“The woman, where is she?”
James hesitated, just a moment, then looked up to the high plateau. “Dead.”
Saberrak huffed, he had a sense James was hiding something, but he was too tired to ask.
They sat, at the crossroads, in peace for many moments of deserved rest. Then, the sound of charging horses from the north and a battle horn broke the silence. They all stood and waited to see what would come out of the mountains next.
Two armored men, golden blonde hair past their shoulders, rode ahead on large horses, larger than the southern realms boasted. One hundred men behind them, large men, bigger by a few inches in height and thirty stones of weight. Agarian men, Shanadorian men.
Saberrak looked to the green banner as the horsemen halted their stallions. A black horse reared, proud and regal, upon a shield of silver, the whole flag blew in the breeze. Then a wagon followed behind them on the road, out of the foothills to the east. Saberrak saw the little men, tiny elves, gnomes, thin short goblins, pudgy stunted men, over a dozen little miniature people, yet the men had beards or facial hair. The little men also wore decorated skirts, or so it looked. He noticed the big men ahorse wore the same.They peered around the corner into the pass beyond the crossroads, little eyes checking to see if it was safe this time.
The soldiers looked too, then all eyes fell on the five that stood before them. Dirty, blood covered with red and black, dusty and ragged. It was silent.
“You there, Knight of Chazzrynn, are these folk and that beast in your company?” The bigger Agarian man spoke, the one with the horn in his hand.
“Yes sir they are. We seek Evermont.” James straightened his sash a bit, not that it helped his appearance.
“Did you five traverse Deadman’s Pass, alone?” The other knight, the one with the stubble of blonde beard spoke next.
“Yes we did, all the way from Devonmir.” James smiled.
Gasps and looks of shock, whispers among the ranks and the little folk too, it was hard for them to believe.
“Need I ask about the dead giants and the dragon good knight?”
“We would love to tell you, surely, but may we enter the city first? Our journey has left us, well, hungry and in need of a bath to say the least.” James bowed his head in respect.
“Of course, of course. One hundred pardons, brave knight of the falcon! To Evermont!” The knights gave a respectful escort to the brave warriors before them.
A small man, a pygmy with dark hair and stubble looked up to Gwenneth and Saberrak. “On behalf of my players and family, I give thee the biggest thanks I, Tubrey o’ Tarnobb, can manage for saving us from the fires of the dragon. If ever you wish thine names in song, be it upon us to honor it.” The little man bowed deep with sincerity.
“You are most welcome, Tubrey o’ Tarnobb, perhaps Saberrak here would deserve a song?” Gwenneth chuckled, reached down, and patted the little pygmy musician on the shoulder.
Saberrak huffed, flared his nostrils, and walked ahead to Gwenneth.
Saberrak looked to her and whispered. “Why are all these people wearing skirts?”
Gwenneth laughed, she did not know how to answer. She walked, arm on Saberrak for support. Toward a gray and red stone fortress city they walked, built half in a mountainside, with five spires rising hundreds of feet in the air. From those five spires were five hundred foot poles of steel, and atop each one was a gem, priceless in size, that glittered for miles around. Gwenneth looked to the flag of Shanador, a feathered cross of Alden, one of Evermont, and two others she did not recognize.
You did well, for a novice…
Gwenneth looked to the staff in her hand, the voice came from there, into her head. It startled her.
I have much to teach you, but in the wilds it will be hard…
Gwenne looked around to see if anyone noticed the creepy old voice.
No one ca
n hear me, idiot girl. Now find that tower, the one that Carados built, there I will teach you much more…
Gwenneth nodded.
Good, and mind your way around the priest. He watches me, his kind do not like my sort of power, so we keep this to ourselves…
Gwenne nodded again.
Angeline III:IV
Road to Gillian, Southern Shanador
The oranges and apples from the peasant farmers were delicious, yet Angeline felt selfish for eating them alone. Harvest was coming, the people they passed in the rural areas had been out in their fields every morning they traveled. Annar did not eat, he did not sleep, and he rarely talked. His dark, short, curls of hair and beard were neatly groomed and needed no attention, they seemed always perfect. He seemed effortlessly clean and fit with his massive muscular physique. He wore peasant garments, sandals, and nothing more. No weapons, no armor, not even a walking stick.
For days and nights they had walked, passing beautiful Marille, the ruined Saint Erinsburg, malicious Devonmir, and now they were days into Shanador. He told her to head west, then northwest, then north, he knew where he was going. He just could not go alone, or so she thought. Angeline Berren, now Angeline of Charity, a Knight of the Soujan, one of fifteen, walked alongside the hulking man, the God, perhaps once a God, with many questions.
“Where is it we are heading, Annar?”
“Hyrastrian.”
“I have never heard of that, is it a city?”
“No.”
His eyes had that blue glimmer to them, a light from within, yet he walked with his eyes to the ground and never stopped, even in conversation.
“What is it then?”
“A holy place, lost and forgotten I would imagine.”
“To whom is it dedicated, to you?”
“No, to my brother, to all of us actually, but to Alden.”
“There are temples to Alden everywhere, especially in Shanador, I could take you to one.”
“No, those are made by men. They hold no significance to me.”
“And this one, this Hyrastrian, is significant?”
“Yes.”
Angeline was polite, this was the son of Seirena, an immortal, yet his answers were nothing short of direct, short, and frustrating. She remained calm and at peace.
“How so, great Annar?”
“It is where my brother landed, where he fell from the sky, cast out by our grandfather. It is where I stood over him, protected him from our wicked brothers and sisters and the demons of the eight hells. It is where they tore his wings from him, took me in chains far away, and where man found him.” Annar looked to Angeline with seriousness in his eyes. “The temple of Genesis, I believe is what your people call it.”
“There are passages and prayers to such effect, titles of holy texts, but everyone knows the place is but part of the story, not real. I thought there were seven hells?” Angeline had been raised, force fed really, Aldane rhetoric as a child in Kivanis.
“There are eight, I assure you. Tartralam is at the far end of Mictalan, the abyssal purgatory of the dead that do not find their way. Then Nirakas, Mount Adiyu, Lake Usheole, Abbitos, Khupashe, Jahanin, and lastly Infiernum. Eight. My brothers rule them, so I know.”
“Then if hell, or hells, are real, what of heaven?” Angeline felt sad, though she knew not why.
“Six now, there were seven once. Oasiun, Elsiun, Paradine, the sunlit City of Teotopa, Mount Maonell, and the Gardens of Fanrabon.”
“Was the seventh yours, Annar?”
“No, the sixth was mine. Castle Gihrasa, the castle that guarded the Gardens of Alden. My grandfather had my brothers burn mine to ashes, but I have yet to see it. I doubt they did.” His voice was grave.
“I am sorry. So who protects your brother then?”
“Haddius is missing from Oasiun, my sister is seldom concerned with anything outside of Paradine, Teotopa is dark with Solumet and the second sun gone, so only my two brothers, Vundren and Siril protect Alden and the heavens.”
“What of the white moon, Carice, is not your brother there?” Angeline was perplexed, she had thought the Caricians all dwelled on the moon.
“My brother? He is not my brother. No, Megos is imprisoned there, like my mother Seirena is imprisoned to the earth. Banished really, they still hold power, but it is in hiding, exile, for what they did.” Annar smiled, the first one since he had been freed by the minotaur.
“What they did?”
“Megos is my father, Angeline.”
“But Seirena was created by Yjaros, just like Megos, they are brother and…oh.” Angeline gulped, knowing that brothers and sisters having relations was forbidden in most any culture, any religion, and she was mildly shocked.
“Do not feel that way, it is different for us. Those twisted children and strict laws came from Yjaros, from his judgement of my parents, and into your world. There is nothing wrong with loving your sister or brother in such a way, but Yjaros, thousands of years ago, made it so. He despised it. He is God, then he has his three children, the Primali, then the throne angels are descended from those unions.”
“Throne angels? You are not Gods?”
“No, there is only one God, but his children together are just as powerful as he is, that is why he banished them so.”
“So Yjaros, is God, your grandfather. Megos and Seirena are your parents, and how many siblings are there?”
“Forty four counting me. But most are from Yjaros and Seirena, we Caricians are from Seirena and Megos born of the earth and moon, Nochtilians and some Gimmorians are from Yjaros and his other daughter.”
“Other daughter?” Angeline thought hard, taking it all in, a father breeding immortals through his daughters, brothers with sisters, it seemed so strange.
“She that can not be mentioned, her name is the bearer of curses, no one can speak of her, ever. No mortal would know of her, and we that do will never say. She is death, the dark, and wicked beyond even immortal grasp. And she was banished out of the world by Yjaros, forever.”
“Like you.”
“No, far worse. She was the one that cursed us, forced by her father.”
“Why does he not kill his enemies? No offense, but all the cursing and banishing---“
“It is forbidden, our blood is his blood, one way or the other. He forbids us to kill one another, mate or love mortals, it is written on the green moon. Only She and He can break the words for her curses, and her words are powerful and real. As long as she lives somewhere, those words of binding hold true. Yet, there is always a way out. My aunt was very deceptive indeed. Yjaros gave all three of them much power, but then took and banished them apart from one another when they used it for themselves, their worshippers, or against him.”
“So your mother is in the earth, your father is upon the white moon, so your aunt, whoever she is, is on the green moon then, Gimmor?”
“No, there sit our thrones and in them the council of the Gimmorians and Nochtilians, my brothers and sisters. The Carician thrones sit empty, since the war and the splitting of our parents.”
“So where is she then?”
“No one knows. Not even God anymore. I was already imprisoned, but I woke up somewhere around a few thousand years ago, and her name was gone from my mind and memory. She fell in love with a mortal, forbidden in the highest degree, and that Yjaros cursed her was all that remained, no matter how hard I thought. He stripped our memory, all of us, and the mortal world too. So, I do not know her name, or where she is. No one does.”
“So you then, you were freed from your curse. Surely she could be found and freed from hers.”
“Yes, a slave to free a slave, it took forever it seems. But her, no, what I do recall, pieces of emotion only, but they tell me that none of us would ever want her free, it would mean the end.”
“End of what?”
“Everything. Your world, the heavens, hells, existence as we know it.”
“Now, not to object to your immortal wisdo
m, but…”
“Go on, I have not talked this much in many millennia.” Annar smiled.
“Are those feelings facts? Or are they placed there by Yjaros to ensure his curses and to make certain none of you would ever have the desire to find her and free her, ever? To have that false fear? Just a thought.” Angeline smiled back.
“Quite wise. I will have to ponder this deeply when I speak to my brothers.”
“Is that what is really in Hyrastrian? Your way home?”
“Beyond wise indeed. You humans have improved while I was away, you are more discerning and inquisitive. It balances the bloodshed and corruption you have spread with your steel, almost.”
“And who worshipped you in your day then, larger, stronger men who fought beasts with bare hands?” Angeline chuckled.
“No. Giants, men of earth and sky, minotaurs, and tribes of honor and strength from many civilizations. Then when I was taken, it was corrupted.”
“How?”
“My races split, temples destroyed, and my worship went awry without me able to hear it or answer. The ogre were born bestial, the trolls became diseased, and no one led my people as they suffered and became degraded killers. Now, I see reflections upon the earth of those that once, long ago, looked to me for guidance and strength.”
“What will happen, now that you are free?”
“I am sure when word reaches my siblings, it will not be good. We are here.”
“Where?” Angeline looked ahead, she saw a small cliff rising out of a rocky ridge, surrounded by swamp and marsh. There was no road beneath her feet, it was midday. She did not know where she was or how much time had passed. She saw a pillar, several more broken ones, and steps in the stone ridge, all covered with moss and vine of green.
“Hyrastrian. The temple of Genesis that you say was but a story, we are here.” Annar had tears running down his cheeks into his beard. His mind went to his little brother, Alden, the tearing of his wings, the blood, him holding him tight as Shukuru and Cancuru took him away in chains, thousands upon thousands of years past. He looked at the feather in his hand, his brothers’, he had held it there since that day, all of his imprisonment.
The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains Page 51