Mythborn

by Lakshman, V.

  Gabreyl must have sensed this because he said, “You are safe here amongst those who love you.”

  He nodded, but not sure he really agreed. Yet something about the commander felt right, as if he was truly family. Then he felt himself walked slowly toward the edge.

  “Do not open your eyes, Your Highness. We must fall to gather speed.”

  Niall nodded hesitantly, but when they began to tip forward, he couldn’t help it and cracked his eyes open. The sight of nothing below but a plunge into empty air caused a blind panic and he pushed back hard with his legs, trying to stop his fall. Luckily, the armsmark must’ve been ready for just this because he launched himself into a dive before they tumbled from Niall’s panic.

  The sensation of falling was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was worse than the long swings during Bara’cor’s festivals that had him plummet and then fly out in an arc over Shimmerene. He couldn’t speak and fought for release.

  “Easy, breathe out,” came the measured voice of Gabreyl in his ear.

  Niall released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding even as their fall turned into a swooping dive. He could feel their speed slowing somewhat and cautiously looked left and right. The armsmark’s wings were spread, catching air as they wheeled and climbed, spiraling around the massive trunk. Hot air rose and Niall held out a hand to feel the warm breeze.

  “We ride the warm winds up,” came Gabreyl’s voice again. “We will be there momentarily, my prince.”

  Niall didn’t answer, his eyes wide as he drank in the scene. Avalyon was a floating forest city inhabited by these blue-skinned elves. He saw hundreds, no thousands he corrected himself, going about their work. It was like any other city, except here the inhabitants could walk on limbs the way he walked on the ground. He looked and spotted a few other flying elves and asked, “Who are they?”

  There was a pause, as if Gabreyl weighed answering, then he heard, “Elves are each born of an element: fire, water, and earth. Those you see flying are born of air.”

  “Like you?”

  Niall thought he heard the smile in Gabreyl’s voice when he replied, “Not exactly. You and I are closer to each other than you know. Yet we are all children of the highlord.”

  Before Niall could question that strange answer, they burst from the canopy and into bright sunshine. Blue skies surrounded them on all sides, with an ocean made of clouds that spread to the horizon. Niall felt as if he were atop the highest mountain, looking down over this world like a god.

  Yet it was not the vista that took his breath away in awe, but rather the giant eagle made of intricately carved wood, its wings outstretched to hang protectively over a sphere made of the same. As they neared, the structure took on true grandeur in its size and majesty. Niall could see it was a massive construct, a throne room or meeting hall fit for a king. It wasn’t an eagle, he realized, but something else.

  Citadel of the Phoenix, the armsmark had called it, and Niall realized his error. At a closer look, he saw it had a crest of feathers that came backward from its eyes like flame and the twin tail forked like a swallow’s. All the statue lacked was the fire-red and black feathers a true phoenix was said to have.

  The name now sounded apt, for it sat high above the floating forest, the wings catching the sun and drawing its fire within. It dwarfed any structure in Bara’cor, including the main hall. The wood had grown into interlocking whorls and entwined themselves in such a way as to make the entire piece a work of art as much as a place to meet. He noticed to the other side of the hall was a ring made of wood, big enough for many men to walk through, His heart fluttered at the hope that perhaps Valarius could gate them home.

  “Can we go back to Bara’cor?” asked Niall, his eyes locked on the ring.

  “Not without great sacrifice, Your Highness,” the commander replied softly.

  Niall thought he heard a melancholy tone underneath his words but could not turn to see his face. Not knowing how to reply, he decided to keep quiet for fear of offending the solicitous man who could be his forefather in some unknown way.

  Gabreyl turned his rise into a gentle descent to the top of a platform, aiming for a space that sat just below the fierce head of the giant bird. There Niall saw a flat, circular landing area. Gabreyl’s feet touched down softly and then he released him to attendants who came rushing forth the moment they had landed.

  “We should not tarry here, Your Highness,” Gabriel said, but nothing in his voice sounded like an order.

  Niall nodded but didn’t answer. His eyes were drawn up to the phoenix towering above them as it gazed out to the horizon, a silent sentinel made of wood. His eyes fell to the white expanse below, rolling hills and valleys like bleached desert sand dunes made out of cloudstuff. They spread out to the horizon, an endless sea of white and orange lit by the setting sun. A gentle hand pulled his gaze away from the horizon.

  “Your Highness, the highlord awaits you below,” said a blue-skinned elven female gesturing to a platform.

  Armsmark Gabreyl had already begun walking in that direction but pointed with a wingtip at one of the attendants. “Please summon Mikal and Ureyl.”

  That attendant bowed and said, “As you command, Your Grace.”

  With Niall in tow, Gabreyl ran lightly up the steps to the platform and then nodded to a waiting yeoman. The man pulled a lever and the entire platform began to descend into the sphere. Cleverly rigged guidelines hung the platform evenly and surely around a central pillar so that the entire landing spiraled down into the spherical hall. It was both beautiful and a feat of engineering meant to impress those who came before the highlord, of that he was sure. It was certainly a marvel he’d never seen before.

  The spiral descent gave Niall the chance to gather in the entire scene. Through the whorls and patterns in the walls he saw the forest island stretch out below, and surrounding all of this was the sea of clouds. The bottom part of the hall was a flat ground that spanned the entire diameter, the wooden upper half of the ball creating a domed ceiling for the highlord’s great hall.

  It was here that the actual throne room sat, resplendent with all the trappings one would find in a royal court of a Galadine. A yellow runner edged in black ran up to the throne where two seats with the House Galadine colors, but the coat-of-arms was different. Where there was usually a lion rampant on his father’s chair, Niall noticed this house’s sigil was the phoenix.

  He thought hard but could not remember anyone who had used that as their crest, but given the immense statue of the same above, the difference was not entirely unexpected. If this was truly Valarius Galadine, then perhaps the phoenix was appropriate, signaling to all his rebirth and triumph after being left for dead. He supposed at this point his great uncle could choose any sigil he wished.

  Sentries stood at attention, their tabards bearing the royal black and gold he was so familiar with. The rest of the chamber had pennants on the walls making a complete circle around the enormous throne room, one for each of the rulers of House Galadine. Their flags were, for the most part, familiar to Niall from his hours learning the history of his family. As his eyes scanned he found his father’s flag to one side near the throne. It held the rampant lion of Bara’cor. That flag made him feel closer to home, as if this was his place. Above the throne itself hung the central and largest flag of the group, the royal phoenix emblazoned with wings spread to either side.

  The platform came to a rest and Gabreyl bowed, gesturing for Niall to proceed first. The prince did so, carefully stepping down to the wooden hall floor, so reassuring in its solidity. It was hard to believe they were suspended in a floating forest high above whatever this world called the ground, assuming there was even such a thing here.

  The great hall was wondrous, a place in harmony with nature. Everything seemed to grow from the wood, an organic extension of what the elves needed. Torch sconces, tables, even banisters and rails emerged without seams. The “fire” seemed to be made out of glowing insects, thousa
nds grasping the end of a “torch.” Their iridescence looked like embers but brighter, but upon closer inspection the flicker was just variances in their glow.

  Armsmark Gabreyl came up to him, smiled, and said, “Prince Galadine, we go there.” He pointed to the throne, upon which Niall could make out a figure dressed in white.

  Niall nodded and they made their way, stopping at a ring of guards. A contingent broke rank and fell in beside them as their escort. They walked in silence a bit farther, stopping when a guard held up a hand and a herald announced, “Hail, Prince Galadine!”

  Niall waited and the figure on the throne gestured for him to come closer. The highlord was dressed in light armor made of something white, the color of which reminded him of dead ash wood. Long white hair fell from his head, held in place by a simple gold and black circlet. Skin so white it looked like parchment revealed itself on the figure’s face and hands, and when Niall neared he could see the face belonged to a man not much older than his own father. Eyes that glowed yellow, as if they drank in the sun stared down at him, yet he was not afraid. In fact, when their eyes met the man’s face broke into a warm smile.

  “Welcome, Niall. I have been eager to meet you.”

  The voice was deep, a commanding voice, one used to leading men in the din of battle. Niall looked at him, drinking in the details. This Galadine looked to be something in between elf and man, so Niall asked, “Who are you?”

  The man in white got up and descended the steps. All the people facing the throne bowed and backed a step away and Niall found himself alone, yet he still did not feel afraid. The towering figure put a warm hand on Niall’s shoulder and began walking away from the throne, his stance and grip friendly.

  “I’m Valarius Galadine, your great uncle many generations removed.”

  The bluntness of the answer stopped Niall in his tracks. Then he shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  “Perhaps.” The man calling himself Valarius seemed to be willing to consider his statement. Then he added and simultaneously seemed to ask, “Perhaps not?”

  “You don’t look like him, at least not from the paintings.”

  The man nodded, “Much here reflects what’s believed. I strove to save Edyn from the demonkind, but how am I remembered by her people?” He looked down and his expression to Niall seemed sad. Then he looked back and smiled. “Edyn may believe the worst of me, but my elves love me as their father. You look upon what those two dreams have created.”

  Niall swallowed then softly accused, “You caused the Demon War and would have taken over Edyn.”

  “Should not a Galadine rule? Pay heed.” He looked up and said, “Mikal, Ureyl.”

  Two winged shapes flew down from the heights, landing softly next to Gabreyl, who stepped forward and into line. The three angels bowed, their blue skin and horns clearly showing their elven heritage. Yet to Niall, the three looked like brothers.

  Valarius gently shook Niall’s shoulder, looking down at him with a smile. Then he looked back at the three men and said, “Niall, I present you Kings Ureyl, Mikal, and Gabreyl Galadine. They are your grandfathers of generations past, serving now as my armsmarks. Nevertheless, they will tell you the truth.”

  Niall took an involuntary step back. “What do you mean?” He knew about Gabreyl, but to have it confirmed and then added to by meeting his entire pater line, it was a bit much to comprehend.

  King Mikal Galadine stepped forward, saluting fist to chest, and said, “My tale is fit for another time, Prince Niall. It suffices to say that the world was misled by the demonlord. Your grand-uncle did all he could for Edyn, but we did not listen. Now we must make amends and stand together as family.”

  “You’re elves!” Niall exclaimed.

  King Ureyl stepped forward, “Now, but once we were just like you: naïve and unknowing of our true might and worth, nor of the war with the demonlord Lilyth. Your grand-uncle stemmed the tide and sacrificed himself to save us. He calls us to service even from death, reminding us of our sworn duty to protect Edyn, a service we give gladly for the black and gold.”

  Niall shook his head, not wanting to believe, but something in the armsmark’s voice ringed true. He couldn’t think and blurted, “You can’t be a Galadine.”

  Gabreyl stepped forth and bowed. “When you asked if we are elves I told you the truth. Yet you and I are closer than you think, bonded by blood, a fact you cannot deny in your heart. Look closely upon me, for I have told you already that I’m your father’s father. We try to stem a war that even now claims the lives of the children of Edyn. Why else would a warrior like Sorath sacrifice himself for us?”

  Niall stood there, dumbfounded. Of all the things these elves had said, Gabreyl’s rang truest. He looked hard at his face and realized why he felt he’d known him from the first time they met. He was young, but his grandfather had died young. Though he could not believe it, his heart told him Gabreyl spoke the truth.

  Valarius then stepped forward and addressed Niall, who was still trying to process everything. “Even now a contingent of my most trusted men have been sent to Bara’cor to lend aid to your father, a man I admire more than most. They will drive out the Aeris and hold Lilyth’s gate. Then our forces will advance and restore order, protecting Edyn from her demonkind.”

  Niall looked at them all, now seeing past the blue skin, past the horns and sigils, to really look at their faces. He began to see things he may not have seen before. The smiles that reminded him of his father and the same stern look that drew his eyebrows together. The worry on Gabreyl’s face when he felt he’d failed Highlord Valarius.

  He knew those looks, didn’t he? Hadn’t he seen them on the paintings adorning the halls of Bara’cor, or even on his own face from time to time? It could be that they were each a Galadine king from Edyn’s past, but it was hard to tell. Still, sincerity radiated from them as plainly as the coat-of-arms and pennants surrounding him in this great hall. He was surrounded by the weight of history carried on the shoulders of his forefathers, all of whom seemed cared a great deal for him. He looked back at Valarius and asked in a small voice, “What happens next?”

  The highlord smiled and answered, “We buy peace for the realms through service and sacrifice. We rule with justice and temperance. We are House Galadine. Nothing less will suffice.”

  The King’s Men

  A wise commander listens to veterans of any rank.

  Their knowledge has been hard won in the crucible of war.

  - Galadine House of Arms, Battle’s Focus

  King Galadine looked sidelong at the elven warrior calling himself Malak. The man was pragmatic if nothing else, wasting little time on anything other than reforming his men into squads of five. He deployed four squads to hold the entry points into their area, then turned to the king. “The unpossessed Aeris, what you call demons, can sift through the walls of Bara’cor. While we cannot stop them from doing so, our weapons are proof against them, and we elves cannot be possessed.”

  Bernal looked at the man, his mind quickly assessing their tactical position, and asked, “Why is a firstmark sent to command a mere platoon?”

  The blue-skinned warrior smiled and said, “It was of utmost importance to the highlord.”

  “Then what’s your mission?” the king pressed.

  Sparrow returned to report they were ready to move. Acknowledging her, the turned back to the king and said, “My orders are simple. Keep you alive, secure the fortress, and expel the Aeris.”

  “And how will you accomplish this?”

  Malak paused, then said, “You know your fortress better than me. Where is the gate Lilyth’s forces used?”

  Bernal blinked, thinking back to what Yetteje had said. It was downward, near the cisterns. She’d described the place well enough and the path she’d come up. Bernal and his men had met her near the base of a stairwell that curled up from that point. He remembered the breathless pursuit, being hauled up those stairs by a girl a quarter of his size.

  Still
, he was reluctant to answer, despite the fact that they had his son. Instead, he asked, “Why?”

  Firstmark Malak looked at the king and said, “The gate is a natural chokepoint. We hold there and send word to the highlord, who will then reinforce us. Then we hunt these Aeris down and destroy them.”

  At that, his men let out a short, “hoorum!” and in unison pounded their spear butts once into the ground. Clearly they relished the idea of hunting these demons.

  Bernal took a deep breath, feeling the healing that the one called Sparrow had started continuing to work through him, an itch inside he could not scratch yet left behind a gentle warmth. Then he turned to the firstmark and asked, “And when will my son be returned?”

  “When the highlord comes, you will be reunited,” Malak promised. “Trust he would never bring harm to another Galadine.”

  Something in the soldier’s tone pricked up Bernal’s ears. “And how do you return? The same way?”

  The elven warrior pursed his lips, his eyes searching Bernal’s own as if looking for something. A moment passed, then the man looked down. “King Galadine, there is no return. We elves are the only proof against the Aeris, journeying here to help you in the coming war. You will not withstand Lilyth’s might without us.”

  Bernal thought about that, uncomfortable with the idea that Bara’cor was now the staging area for not one but two invasion forces, even if the latter was elves coming to his rescue. It did not matter to him that they came to combat the Aeris, for what would they do once that threat was gone? Rarely did an occupying force leave peacefully, and bending knee to an elven highlord was no better than to a demon-queen.

  Malak seemed to understand his reluctance and said, “You are a Galadine, just as the highlord. You both will rule here alongside each other. He would want no less.”