The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Blade of Origin

by B. A. Scott

  “I don’t think I’ll need any protecting in there,” Gabrel told him.

  He and the General proceeded with Arcturus into the Temple. Gabrel was so enthralled with the beautifully crafted, freely flowing corridors that for a moment, the dread of his purpose left him completely.

  They arrived at what Gabrel gathered to be both throne room and council chamber. It was triangularly shaped, with a triangular oculus, shaded by a series of enormous stone feathers that pointed inward from above the oculus’s perimeter.

  The Aeroli Sage, Saléus, sat upon a throne of stone, etched and shaped like vines, interweaving amidst a spray of feathers. Its seat was cushioned with moss, and its backing, a grand spread of stone wings, presented the Sage with a godly presence. The throne evinced power, nature, flight and fortitude.

  In the very center of the chamber was a small, shallow, triangular pool of water, raised from the ground.

  The Fountain of Parsali? Gabrel wondered.

  “Saléus,” Arcturus addressed the Sage. “Our visitors from the north.”

  “Thank you, Arcturus,” said the elderly Aerolus. “You may return to your post.” Arcturus bowed and departed. “Welcome, I am Saléus,” the Sage spoke. He was flanked by two Borean women and several Aeroli.

  “General Weylan Fortenstar,” the General introduced himself. “Captain and ambassador, Gabrel Caladen.”

  Saléus bowed his head in respect. Gabrel couldn’t help but notice how old he looked. The Sage appeared proud in posture, but worn by time. His feathers had grayed, his voice was coarse, and eyes of forest green revealed unparalleled wisdom in their depths.

  “Gabrel Caladen?” Saléus asked. “The half-breed Enchanter?”

  “News travels,” said Gabrel.

  “Slower than ever to Valea,” said the Sage. “These days, what news we get comes from Borean ambassadors.” He gestured to the Boreans.

  “Is one of you Kodia Malilae, by any chance?” Gabrel asked.

  One of the Boreans stepped forward. “Yes?” she asked curiously. For a moment, Gabrel almost thought he recognized her.

  “I’ve come from Benevar,” said Gabrel. “Your sister, Faelia, is taking my brother and the Erygian Sage to the Northlands. Here, she asked me to give you this.” He handed her the small scroll Faelia provided.

  “Thank you,” Kodia said.

  “Have you come to drink from our Fountain, Captain Caladen?” asked Saléus. “Or do you prefer ‘ambassador?’”

  “Ambassador is fine,” Gabrel said. “I haven’t grown accustomed to ‘Captain’ yet.”

  “I see,” said Saléus, finding deeper meaning in Gabrel’s words than Gabrel thought he expressed. “And so?”

  “Drinking from your Fountain—yes,” Gabrel said. “If you’d permit me. But I can honestly say that’s the least imposing of my requests.”

  Saléus nodded in understanding.

  “Of course it is,” he said. “Though, had it been the only reason you came, it still required an army to see you safely to our doorstep.” The Sage lowered his head, disheartened. “Gone are the days when an eager wielder might traverse this world without so hefty an escort. Gone are the days when Sages and Enchanters journeyed to distant lands to experience new walks of life, form bonds of fellowship and see with their own eyes what wondrous beauty these vistas offer. Alas, such days have ended. Now, we venture for means of war. We drink from Fountains to use their gifts as weapons. Perhaps when all of this is finished, it will return to the way it was.”

  “I understand we’ve come at a difficult time for your people,” Gabrel said.

  “You have no idea what Caleton cost us,” said Saléus. “I can only guess at your primary purpose here, but if you’ve come to enlist our warriors, kindly turn back. For we have none to give.”

  “Forgive me,” Gabrel said, already expecting the response, “but how is that possible?”

  “We gave Titus Mercer everything,” said the Sage. “Even civilians took up arms, roused by honor to defend your city. I knew that if Daro were not stopped at Caleton, his evil would spread—as it so viciously has. And so I sent the largest force we could offer. But I should have never let them go. Not a single one. It was all in vain.”

  “I am sorry,” said Gabrel.

  “I just never imagined we’d see such defeat. Daro is even stronger than I feared. But I cling to hope that—few as we are now—he no longer deems us a threat, and foregoes retribution upon us.”

  “If he were to attack Valea,” Gabrel said, “would you survive?”

  The Sage shook his head and spoke, “I fear not.”

  “Then you’re not safe here,” Gabrel said.

  “No city is safe anymore,” said Saléus. “To think otherwise is delusion.”

  Gabrel thought for a moment. There was, in fact, a single place of refuge left in the world—that he knew of, at least.

  “That’s not entirely true,” he said. “Look, forget fighting in the war—I understand why you can’t involve yourselves. But if you truly wish to protect your people from further devastation, there is somewhere you can go.”

  “You would have us abandon our home for Benevar?”

  “For Avenalora,” said Gabrel. “It’s been found. You could rebuild your civilization there. Daro can’t get in.”

  “Avenalora?” Saléus’s eyes widened.

  “I’ve been there,” Gabrel told him. “It’s the safest place in Adoran right now.”

  The other Aeroli in the room stirred enquiringly and looked to the Sage.

  “Thank you,” Saléus said kindly. “But there is much in this mountain we must protect.”

  “The Fountain of Parsali?” Gabrel asked, looking once again to the small pool of water.

  “Our future,” Saléus said.

  “Your future?” Gabrel asked, confused. “What do you—”

  “Ambassador, please,” Saléus interrupted politely. “This can hardly be the matter you’ve come to discuss.”

  Gabrel feared pressing the issue would more than agitate the Sage. But he couldn’t just let it pass, knowing he could help.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “For all you lost at Caleton, I would see you as far removed from Daro’s reach as possible.”

  “As would I.” The Sage regarded Gabrel thoughtfully, touched by his words, but unyielding in stance.

  “You are far wiser than I am,” Gabrel continued. “And I know you’re only doing what’s best for your people. If you believe staying in Valea is their greatest chance of survival, then who am I to question you? I only fear what would happen if you were attacked. Who will protect your future then?” No response came from the Sage. “If you were to take refuge in Avenalora, could you bring it with you—whatever you’re protecting?”

  “Heh,” the Sage laughed piteously. “A feat of feats. It would take an army.”

  “Well, I’ve got one of those,” said Gabrel. “Look, believe me when I say I had no intention of coming here to try and convince you to leave your home, but—but by god, Saléus, get your people out before it’s too late.”

  The Sage studied him with a stern brow. Gabrel couldn’t tell if he was about to be banished from Valea or if Saléus was actually taking his words to heart.

  “Evacuation,” the Sage sadly pondered the notion. “A retreat. The definitive mark of my failure as a Sage.”

  “No, call it… ‘migration,’” Gabrel offered a less dismal term. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it? Didn’t the Breyen Aeroli come here during the War of Ages—when their mountain became unsafe?”

  “Indeed they did,” Saléus said, finding merit in the argument. “But Valea has been our home since the dawn of our creation. The Goddesses forged the first of us upon this very summit. This realm was their gift to us.” The Sage paused, and looked to his fellow Aeroli. “Old and wise as I’ve become, my recent judgments have brought my people to the brink of extinction. I would see to their survival at any cost.” His gaze returned to Gabrel. “A migration is of h
istoric magnitude. A supremely audacious undertaking. But in these desperate hours, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is a necessary one. Let the matter rest, knowing that I shall strongly consider your proposition, ambassador Caladen.”

  Gabrel bowed his head.

  “Aside from permitting you to drink from Parsali, I am sorry we cannot aid you further in your fight against Lord Daro,” Saléus said. “But I believe our meeting to have been fruitful, nonetheless.”

  “Actually,” Gabrel said, “there’s still one more thing I would ask of you.”

  “And what is that?” the Sage asked inquisitively.

  “Will you take me to Teréyu?”

  The request seemed to baffle Saléus, rendering him momentarily speechless. “If you wish to speak with the Goddess, might I suggest in prayer,” he said.

  Gabrel shook his head. “No, I need to see her. I know she’s here, Saléus. It’s why I’ve come—my ‘primary purpose,’ as you put it. Arey’n said we could defeat Lord Daro with the Blade of Origin. She said we could find it here, with Teréyu.”

  “Arey’n—told you this?” Saléus asked in disbelief. “You spoke with her?”

  “My brother did,” said Gabrel. “Look, I realize this is hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”

  The Sage thought intensely on Gabrel’s words, searching for any inkling of foul intention. It felt to Gabrel like Saléus’s piercing eyes were looking straight into his soul.

  “Her secret has been kept here for centuries,” Saléus spoke at last. “I am astonished that such guarded information was divulged.”

  “It seems the Goddesses are as desperate as you are, then. The Blade of Origin is the only thing that can penetrate Daro’s magic, and they want him gone as much as we do.”

  “If legend is true, its power will be too much for you to bear,” said the Sage.

  “I’ve sipped from the Avenflame,” Gabrel said. “I can wield the Celestial Blaze. According to Arey’n, its divine qualities will let me hold the Sword of Creation.”

  Saléus rubbed his temple, and fell back further into his throne, deeply affected by the onslaught of profound knowledge. He looked to Gabrel as though he’d aged a lifetime since first they spoke.

  “In all my years,” said the Sage, “I never thought I would live to see such a day as this.” He lifted his head in acceptance, stood, then spoke with resolve. “Very well. I will take you to the Fountain of Parsali, so that you may drink of our waters. May the gift of Gale aid you in your endeavors. And,” he couldn’t believe what he was about to say, “we will seek Teréyu. I highly require her advice on the matter of migration anyhow.”

  “Thank you,” Gabrel said with a deep bow. He glanced to General Fortenstar, who gave him an impressed nod. “So, where to first?” he asked the Sage. “The Fountain or the Goddess?”

  “Just the same,” said Saléus. “They reside together.”

  “They’re in the same place?” Gabrel asked, noting once more the triangular pool of water before him.

  “And they have been right in front of you since you arrived in Valea,” the Sage said. He filled himself with magic, then impelled the enormous stone feathers that shaded the oculus. They moved upwards and back, like petals of a blooming flower.

  Gabrel watched as light poured into the chamber, revealing the blue sky above.

  I don’t understand, he thought to himself, looking to the Sage for some sort of explanation. I don’t see any Fountain up there.

  Saléus released his magic, then gazed upward, urging Gabrel to look again.

  Gabrel obliged, searching the sky for anything unusual. The only thing that caught his attention was the lone tuft of cloud he’d spotted before entering the temple.

  He looked back to the Sage. The prospect seemed too farfetched. He thought himself loony for even considering it. But Saléus’s reassuring expression told him otherwise.

  Incredulously, Gabrel spoke, “The cloud?”

  Chapter 26: Parsali

  Gabrel followed Saléus outside the Temple, joined by General Fortenstar, a female Aerolus and the two Borean women.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Saléus,” said Kodia. “I know Ryla and her escort will be well looked after.”

  “It has been our pleasure, ambassador,” said the Sage. “And I wish you and yours good fortune on your way to Marinar.”

  “You’re going to the Marineans?” Gabrel asked.

  “It is my next stop, yes,” said Kodia. “Then Benevar, then home. There’s a chance we just might cross paths again, ambassador Caladen. In case you’re staying in Valea for a time, this is my sister, Ryla.” The other Borean woman regarded Gabrel with a nod.

  “Hello,” Gabrel told her. “Kodia, if you’re headed for Marinar, it wouldn’t hurt to nudge them toward joining us in Avenalora. My Queen—Ayden Mercer—was supposed to sail there after I left Benevar. But she didn’t seem too confident in her chances. You might have better luck.”

  “I’ll mention it,” Kodia agreed.

  They exited the Temple, where Kodia embraced Saléus, and departed with Ryla. Saléus and the female Aerolus led Gabrel and Fortenstar around the Temple’s outskirts, where Gabrel saw a number of defenses in place. Floating isles, like platforms, surrounded the mountain peak. Upon them, giant contraptions resembling spear-bows were aimed toward the sky. Only, instead of a single loaded spear, each held more than fifty. Other platforms boasted net launchers, catapults filled with mysterious payloads, and even three-tiered scaffoldings, manned by guards.

  “Ambassador, this is Minkara, my granddaughter,” Saléus motioned to his female companion. “I could carry you to Parsali, but my wings are old, and hers are far more capable.”

  “Thanks,” Gabrel said. He thought Minkara an exquisite creature. She had a smoother, sleeker appearance than the Aeroli males. Smaller and more slender in frame as she was, Gabrel didn’t doubt her strength or agility. In fact, judging by her graceful movement, he actually thought her more apt to the finesse of flying than the towering, muscular males he’d seen before. She had feathers of reddish gold, with white upon her breast, and around her eyes. What captivated Gabrel most, he realized, was her beauty. He thought it strange to find such attractive features in her hawk-like visage, but her eyes were undeniably stunning.

  Her armor was leather and light, with many straps and loops for spears—apparently not only Minkara’s weapon of choice, but the Aeroli altogether. Gabrel counted three spears of varying length on the Aerolus, but they didn’t appear to hinder her movement in the least.

  Saléus stopped and gazed upward. Gabrel saw the cloud overhead, and his stomach lurched.

  “The Temple of the Sacred Sky,” Gabrel said to himself, finding new meaning in the name.

  “If you’re ready,” said the Sage.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Gabrel said, knowing he would never be fully prepared to leave the ground.

  Gabrel looked to the General, who was still gazing upward. Fortenstar finally regarded Gabrel and spoke, “Don’t die.”

  Saléus leapt into the sky and soared toward the cloud. Minkara beat her wings, flew above Gabrel, and grasped him by the arms with her taloned feet.

  She lifted him from the mountain, and followed after the Sage. Gabrel held tight to her ankles, fearing Minkara would drop him at any moment. The mountain shrank below him, and the landscape was dizzyingly endless. Gabrel couldn’t find words to describe what it felt like to see the world from such a tremendous perspective. He battled between closing his eyes, hoping the skyward journey would end soon, and forcing himself to marvel at his breathtaking surroundings, knowing few without the gift of flight had ever witnessed such an extraordinary sight.

  The cloud approached, and they flew through its mist. Wind rocked Gabrel in his ascent, and the air seemed to grow colder with every flap of Minkara’s wings. Finally, they broke through the cloud and landed on solid earth.

  Released from the Aerolus’s grasp, Gabrel dropped to his knees, needing a moment to
stabilize his bearings. The wind was so strong, that he dug his fingertips between gaps in the stone-laid floor, for fear of being swept over the floating island’s edge.

  Where they landed, two stone pillars that bore shoulder-high basins marked an entrance. A ruined wall of gray stone ran from the pillars in both directions, encircling the island.

  Saléus filled himself with magic and reached his feathered hands toward both basins. He conjured a white everfire within them, and Gabrel immediately felt its effects.

  The white flame raced from the basins, through culverts atop the walls, until the entire island was graced by a ring of white fire. The winds stopped, and Gabrel lifted his eyes.

  The area was round, not seventy paces across. Ruins of an ancient stone building, covered in moss and vines, surrounded a wide pond in its center. On the far side from where Gabrel knelt, the enclosing walls met at a large, circular stone—upon which, he discerned relief carvings depicting the Aeroli’s creation.

  Gabrel looked from the pond to the flames reflected in its calm waters. They were white as snow, and burned seven feet high along the outer walls.

  “Welcome to the Isle of Parsali,” Saléus said.

  “How’d you do that—stop the winds?” Gabrel asked the Sage. “Did you use Gale?”

  “A strain of everfire called Bellows’ Boundary,” Saléus informed him, “which contains Gale.”

  “And this,” Gabrel rose to his feet, “this is the Fountain? The pond?”

  Saléus nodded and led Gabrel and Minkara to the water. Three stone pathways converged at a ring in the pool’s center, where a swirling spout of water rose into the air, as if guided by wind.

  “Gale,” said the Sage, “is nature’s breath. It weathers rock, stirs flame, and carries the mightiest of storms. Yet it can whisper comfort on a soft breeze. Bring seeds of a flower to distant lands. And fill the sails of a seafaring vessel. The power of the winds at your very fingertips.” Saléus gestured to the swirling spout of water. “It is customary to breathe it in,” he said. “Drink, Gabrel Caladen, and be refreshed.”