Myth

by Terri Todosey

  The wood did well in absorbing the flames and the walls soon danced with the glowing light that flickered from it. The air quickly warmed and I cautiously drew closer, but Prospexi remained where she stood and I followed her eyes down to her sword he was holding. He must have noticed too, as he suddenly held it out for her and she took it without a word exchanged. She didn’t have to say anything; her eyes said it all. They were filled with warning, as her power over him had been challenged. It must have been hard for her to accept anything he offered, when she knew there was nothing he could do to bring her sister back.

  “I am not convinced this isn’t a trap you are setting for us,” she sighed. “However, I will take you to see my Father at daybreak and your fate will rest in his hands, but do not consider it a blessing,” she warned. “For he will likely not be as merciful as I.”

  Then rising above him she commanded, “On your knees Ignis Satus!” And resting her thorn sword on his shoulder she said, “I give you a new name. From here forth you shall be called Spero Satus, which means the Beginning of Hope, as you must have much of it if you think you can help us.”

  “Hey guys!” Justin had wandered off and called out from the other side of the large cathedral. “There’s stuff drawn on the walls over here.”

  —

  Taking one of the unlit torches off the wall, I placed the fueled tip into the fire. The torch lit immediately and offered a warm, bright flame, that enabled us to better see the back recesses of the room. As we drew closer to Justin, the towering stone wall behind him lit up with colourful depictions of people, animals, and various items and symbols, similar to the scrolls Prospexi and her father showed me earlier, yet much more elaborate. The entire wall was covered from floor to ceiling like a giant, intricate work of art.

  “In all the suns, I could have never imagined these walls as beautiful,” said Prospexi.

  “What does it all mean?” asked Emily.

  “They are interpretations of the Troth, drawn many moons ago by the Syreni scribes,” said Prospexi.

  “Syreni scribes?”

  “Yes, they were a civilization who lived in Evoluii long before me, back in the day when my father was young.”

  “What happened to them?” I asked.

  “They were crippled with a curse and cast off into the sea, forbidden to return.”

  “Why? What did they do?” I asked.

  “So much of their history is lost, and it’s difficult to find someone old enough who is willing to talk about it, but what I have heard is it wasn’t so much what the Syreni did, or so my Father explains, but what they were planning to do.”

  “Wait a sec,” interrupted Justin. “They didn’t actually do anything?”

  “You have to understand, the Syreni were highly advanced and there were many who were afraid of them. Rumours had been spread that the Syreni were planning a coup to take over Evoluii, and some believed they even possessed a gift of magic so strong that no one would have been able to defeat them.”

  “And yet those highly advanced Syreni were defeated by a curse,” said Justin.

  “I’ve only heard little, as my father doesn’t like to speak of it,” she admitted, “But I can only assume the ones who cursed them had good reason, as the Syreni were banished from the temple and the land. Although, I’ve always considered it a sad story, seeing how beautiful their artistry was,” she sighed. “Look here!” She pointed to a large and colourful scene on the wall that was in the shape of a circle.

  In the centre taking up most of the circle was a round lake filled with many sailing ships and rowing vessels that were neatly painted within it. It reminded me of the scene on the ceiling back home in the mansion - the one with all the ships and mermaids - but there was a part of this that was very different. In this scene, there were strange, grotesque figures edging around the lake’s shoreline. At one point along the circle these human-like figures appeared to be holding musical instruments, but as my eyes continued around, the figures became distorted and had faces of agony. One had a leg bent out with a short stubby fish tail and another had two legs and gills like a fish. Other figures were falling into the water where mermaids were painted between the boats. It was as though the artist was depicting a horrible scene of deformed humans and disfigured mermaids in a Salvador Dali-type depiction, and it made me feel uneasy.

  “Well that’s creepy,” said Justin.

  “Yes it is, but there’s something even more disturbing,” said Prospexi. “See this?” She flew up and pointed to some etched symbols that edged the full circle. They appeared to be some sort of letters or symbols, but I didn’t recognize it as any language I knew.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “This is the title of the scene,” she pointed to the top of the circle. “It says Somnium Desperationis, which means The Dream of Despair, but we faeries call it The Syreni Curse because it depicts what happened to them on that fateful day. Imagine having a dream and painting it here as a prophetic warning, but not realizing it was a prophesy of your own demise?”

  “That’s horrible,” said Emily.

  “So, the Syreni were cursed to be mermaids?” I asked.

  “I do not know the word mermaid you refer to,” she said.

  “You know,” said Justin. “Half fish, half human.”

  “No, although the Syreni were similar to humans or elves with arms and legs, they were a different species altogether,” Prospexi corrected. They were tall and slender with elongated skulls and wide set eyes. The little information that has been passed down to us also suggests they had no gender; neither male or female. Banished from the land and pushed into the sea, they weren’t expected to survive, but a powerful magic saved them from drowning and they adapted to their new surroundings with gills and a tail.”

  My mind wandered back to the waters of Lily Palus. The merboy that saved me didn’t look at all like that. He looked like a regular human, but with a fishtail instead of legs. I tried to think back to the other creatures in the water that night - the ones that had bumped into me and seemed to pull me under with their current. It was as though they had tried to drown me, but it was so dark I had barely caught a glimpse of them. Could they have been the Syreni?

  “Do you suppose they’re angry because of what was done to them?” I asked.

  “Oh yes, and make no mistake, the sea can be a very dangerous place if you find yourself in it,” Prospexi warned.

  ‘It made sense,’ I thought. ‘But if that merboy was not a Syreni, what was he?’ I wondered.

  “Check out this one with the bright red hair,” said Emily, pointing to a painted figure in a large boat.

  “That is Ludo Basilicus,” said Prospexi. “Here she is again,” she said flying up to a different scene higher on the wall. A pale figure with bright red hair sat on top of a black horse. “The red hair is consistent with all depictions of her. Look!” Prospexi flew down to another scene at the bottom right-hand corner of the wall, where a wavy line and the shape of a shell were painted beside two figures that sat on a line. One had red hair and the other held a book. There was also something written in the same type of symbols.

  “I recognize this scene of Ludo from our scrolls,” she said. “The figure you see beside her with the book represents the Maker and the elders believe this is the last depiction we have of him, before he disappeared.”

  “How long ago was that?” I asked.

  “No one knows exactly when or how he left, but the last day anyone saw him was the same day as the great fire. There are witnesses who claim to have seen him in Lockhart early that morning, but many didn’t notice he was missing until much later, during the Midsummer gatherings.”

  “What’s that?” asked Emily.

  “When my father was young, the Maker would visit the faeries on this very ridge of Montis every Midsummer and read them stories from the Troth. He wou
ld stay here for the entire sun that refused to set, and anyone with ears that could hear came and listened to him read the stories his own hand had written. Stories of the past, present and even of a time still to come. He instructed the Syreni to erect a temple and fill it with the stories he told, so we would have record of them and never forget. Then one midsummer he didn’t show up, and news quickly spread that he had not been seen for several moons. It seemed he had just vanished.”

  “So did anyone find out what happened to him?” asked Justin.

  “Unfortunately, there are no witnesses to his disappearance that have come forward, so no one knows for sure. Some elders believe the Maker is finished telling us all we need to know and has absconded to where the dragons are.”

  “Dragons?” Justin’s eyes lit up.

  “Where our known world ends and the unknown hides,” said Prospexi. “Others believe that we angered him to such an extent that he felt us unworthy of knowing more. Perhaps he knew that so many of us would betray him.” She glanced at Spero, who stared solemnly at the wall of stories. “Then there are others who believe....” Prospexi stopped, as though lost in her thoughts.

  “Who believe what?” I asked.

  “Who believe the Maker is dead,” she said.

  “What do YOU think happened to him?” I asked.

  “Although I dare not say it and am even afraid at times to think it, this last depiction of the Maker shows him with Ludo at Lily Palus. These are symbols for change and tragedy.” She pointed to a group of symbols etched directly below the scene. Some highly regarded elders have passed down the interpretation of such drawings to suggest the Maker stopped that day. The word, ‘decido’ that is written here below the picture, means to fall down, to sink, or fall dead. We know that it wasn’t Ludo that fell that day, as she is very much alive.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” said Emily who seemed frustrated by the notion.

  “Interpretations are just that,” said Prospexi, “they’re not as black and white an answer as one wants, but one thing I know for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Time eventually reveals the answers to many unanswered questions. We just have to be patient and content with what we know now, and be hopeful that what we are yet to learn will be good and in our favour. Either way,” she continued. “Most believe Ludo had something to do with his disappearance, as she was one of the last to see him, despite her alleged innocence. It gave rise to her being called Ludo meaning deceive, by those who were wise enough to discern, and it was shortly after that day when she began building an army of fire demons. See here!” She pointed to another hieroglyph of Ludo, surrounded by a circle of small dark creatures with wings.”

  I looked at Spero and noticed tears pooling in his eyes. He seemed to struggle with them, as his brow furled until a tear finally rolled out, and steamed on his dark cheek. It must have been horrible for him to suddenly see the truth of what he had become. What he had been deceived to do. He turned, seemingly ashamed, and walked back to the fire.

  “Who’s the one with the burning sword?” asked Justin.

  “That... is the Myth,” said Prospexi as she flew over to where Justin was. “Yes, this is her with the Maker. The word here is fax, which is a tricky word as it has so many meanings. It could mean torch, flame, fire of love, shooting star, marriage, or even death.

  “The word fax doesn’t mean that back home,” said Justin.

  Most elders believe what you see as a flaming sword is actually a torch, thus the word fax would make sense, but why the depiction of flames and the symbol for torch is connected with her, no one is sure. Some believe it was the Myth who started the great fire, that last day the Maker was seen. But we know so little about the Myth; I hope by keeping Spero alive it proves fruitful for my Father to get more information about her, and about Ludo’s plans.

  “What if it’s a trap, and Spero is telling us lies?” Emily whispered.

  “That is why he must be taken to my Father,” said Prospexi. “The Chief knows what questions to ask and can see through every lie and deception. Though I must admit I am anxious to know more details of the Myth - the one whose destiny intertwines with my own. Tali, when Willow nudged you, did she show you anyone that could have been the Myth?” she asked and waited with her eyes fixed on mine.

  My mind flicked back to the visions Willow had showed me. “I only saw the merboy and a large ship and plenty of demons and smoke, but it’s hard to make sense of any of it,” I said.

  “Merboy?” she asked, seemingly puzzled. “Do you mean one of the Syreni?

  “Yes! Well, no...”

  “Is it yes or no?” she asked peering into me as she had done when I first met her back in the fields of Green.

  “That’s what’s confusing,” I tried to explain. “He wasn’t at all like the Syreni you described, and he had legs in the vision she shared.”

  “Then why would you call him a merboy?”

  “Because I’ve already met him, in the waters of Lily Palus, when he had a fish tail instead of legs. You said the Syreni were cursed and forced into the water. Maybe he was cursed too? And maybe Willow showed me a vision of him before he was cursed?”

  “No, the curse happened long before Willow was born,” she said. “Nudges are built on memories and meant to prompt someone into doing something, so whoever she showed you with legs could not have been a Syreni. Unfortunately she didn’t realize you were too simple to understand what to do with her nudge.”

  Sadly, Prospexi was right. I couldn’t understand any of the things Willow Moon had shown me, and I was too exhausted to even try. The day had been long and I desperately needed sleep. I looked over to Spero sitting quietly by the crackling fire. Walking over, I sat down beside him, wanting to warm and dry my clothes that remained damp from the rain.

  “Lockhart is merely a quarter day journey northwest on foot from here,” Prospexi said as she joined us by the fire. “You three should reach it by mid-day tomorrow. Rest now, for the western side of the mountain can be a rigorous descent, even for an avid ranger.”

  We all lay close to the fire on the stone floor and as my eyes began to close, my dreams drifted in, beckoning me to a simpler place. Back home to where our parents would be thrilled to see us, and a hot meal and a warm bed would await our return. It was hard to believe we were so close now, when sleeping between a faery and fire demon made it seem so far away.

  Once more we’d have parents to protect us and scold us, and cook meals for us. School would already be in session and there would be homework to catch up on and Tina Rigsby would be there to harass us.

  “It’s hard to believe we’re finally going home,” said Emily.

  “It’s weird, but I’m having a hard time remembering my mom’s face,” said Justin. “It’s like when my dad died, I remembered his face for nearly two years, but then I could only remember him from the pictures I had of him.”

  I thought hard about my mom and dad and little brother. I tried to picture their faces, but it was as though they had become a distant dream blurred into a non-detailed memory. Would I notice how much my brother had grown? An entire month had passed since I last saw them and an anxiety crept over me as I became ever more desperate to see those faces of home and I longed to etch them clearly back into my mind. Yawning, I opened my eye one last time to see Prospexi watching over Spero with a stubborn unwavering fortitude, giving me comfort and assurance that we’d be safe throughout the night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lockhart at Last

  I don’t know how long I had been sleeping, but I woke early, before the others. Glowing embers were all that remained of the fire and the dim light of dawn had begun to slip through the fissures in the broken stone gate, creating an ethereal glow inside the soaring cathedral.

  Then I heard it. It was faint and indistinct, but it sounded as if someone was hum
ming far off in the deep recesses of the temple. I sat up and looked towards the far wall of hieroglyphs, where the soft morning light had trouble reaching, but another light flickered dimly against the wall. Standing up, I moved closer and saw it was a single lit candle resting in a holder on the floor and someone was sitting beside it. At first glance I thought it was a human girl facing the wall with her back towards me, but as I approached I realized she was much different than a human. Even as she sat, I could tell she was at least twice my height with a long neck and an abnormally large head. Her long dark hair glistened in the warm light of the candle as she swayed from side to side. One of her hands moved along the wall in slow rhythmic waves that seemed to correspond with the song she was singing. Her voice was soft and serene, but I didn’t recognize the melody and I couldn’t understand any of the words. It was as though she was singing in a different language, or perhaps there weren’t words at all, just a combination of vowels and sounds. It reminded me of the song I had heard back in Lily Palus, only this song was peaceful and reverent rather than sad. I wondered if she was one of the Syreni scribes that Prospexi had spoken of, but I thought they were no longer allowed in the temple. The song swelled up around me, filling the temple and resonating off the stone walls and arched rafters. It was beautiful.

  “Hello?” I called out as I drew closer, almost afraid to interrupt her heavenly voice, but the singer didn’t acknowledge me. She seemed preoccupied in what she was doing, and I realized that she was painting.

  Using her long finger as a brush, she moved it effortlessly between a small bowl of gold paint and the smooth stone wall. She had created a scene of swirling strokes of gold rising from two figures that stood within a crowd of faeries, elves and other creatures.

  “What are you drawing?” I asked, standing beside her. She stopped singing and turned to look at me. Her face was pale and smooth and her wide set eyes searched mine.

  “Open your eyes and see,” she said softly.

  I looked back at the wall, studying the swirls she had drawn but I couldn’t see any definable shape.