by H. A. Harvey
Copyright © 2014 by Hanford A. Harvey
All Rights Reserved
For Martha,
Without whom, for so many reasons, there would be no story.
Contents
Dedication
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: Longmyst
Chapter 2: The Dark of Night
Chapter 3: Tracking Ghosts
Chapter 4: Brewing Storms
Chapter 5: Three Roads to Baeden
Chapter 6: The Wild Run
Chapter 7: Fire and Broadstone
Chapter 8: Scourge
Chapter 9: The Mountain Crown
Chapter 10: The Cascade at Dawn
Chapter 11: Meetings on the Road
Chapter 12: Eyes in the Dark
Chapter 13: The Brogan Vale
Chapter 14: Coming to Court
Chapter 15: Children of Creation
Chapter 16: A City in Shadow
Chapter 17: Autumn’s Fall
Chapter 18: The Raven’s Cage
Chapter 19: Dragon’s Song and Faerie Fire
Chapter 20: Cat’s Eyes and Family Ties
Chapter 21: The Gates of Kadis
Chapter 22: A Promise Fulfilled
Chapter 23: The Maw of Shadow
Prologue
The traveler paused at a curve in the road as it snaked its way lazily down the hillside. He waved idly for the Buros Gypsies to press on to town without him. He’d already spied what had brought him. As the nomadic reptiles indifferently plodded along, he focused his gaze on the jungle clearing down below. In the shade at the edge of the treeline, a small crowd of Human children sat gathered around the willowy green form of an older girl who was clearly one of the plant-like Desaid folk.
Chrysanthemum laughed a little as the child in her lap played with one of the feathery, golden petals that floated lightly about her head in lieu of hair. The little Human boy blinked and looked at her oddly, obviously trying to ascertain what was so humorous. Chrys smiled at him as she reached up with a hand to smooth her petals back in place.
“That tickles, Darshan.” She murmured, “I can’t finish the story if you keep playing with my petals.”
“You can feel your hair?” Darshan blinked at her golden halo in amazement, fiddling with his long, black locks unconsciously.
Chrys nodded, “Of course, all Desaid can, but it’s not hair like you have. It’s more like the frills that Buros men have. It’s a living part of us, like your fingers and toes, and we normally don’t let other people touch it.”
“Because it tickles?” Darshan asked, clearly working to resist reaching up again.
“Well, most aren’t ticklish. I’m just odd that way I guess.” Chrys cleared her throat, “Now did you want me to finish the story or are we going to talk about petals?”
“Shut up Darshan and let her finish!” A few of the other village children cried out before he quite seemed to make up his own mind.
Chrysanthemum nodded and cleared her throat, “Right, where was I?”
“The Spire was on fire!” A little girl rhymed as she beamed her namesake smile from the front of the small crowd seated around Chrys’ feet.
“Oh yes, of course. Thank you Aashi.” Chrys cleared her throat. “And so, no one knows why the Fount of Creation at the Spire’s heart erupted into flame and sent destruction across the face of Creation, but everyone knows that it did. The Spire at the world’s center burned with flames of a thousand colors, consuming the Spire itself and igniting the Vault of Heaven and the Divine Realm beyond. The gods and dragons that dwelt there were singed and fell to earth; the dragon’s immortal bodies were broken and became the first drakes, while the gods also lost their immortality for a time and walked among mortals.”
“Just like us?”
“Hush, Darshan. I was getting to that. No, they weren’t like us exactly. They looked like us, and could bleed and even be killed, but they were still ageless and possessed great power. So, they became great kings, queens, and emperors across the world.”
“Now, it wasn’t long before they found that they could steal each other’s power by killing each other. So, there was war again. The battles were not quite as devastating as the War of Immortals, but nowhere was safe, and nobody seemed to care that the sky burned and the ashes of the Divine Realm fell like snow and bla-“
“What is snow?”
Chrysanthemum blinked. She’d forgotten that it was always hot here in the Kaesan Jungles, not like her home in Tyre. She pondered how to describe it to the Endi children.
“Well, it’s water, like rain, but frozen and in tiny little bits of ice. So it falls slow, like a feather or ash and it stays while it’s still cold, so everything looks like it’s blanketed in cotton.”
“That sounds pretty.” Aashi cooed, but Darshan’s face showed he was just confused by the description even further.
“So the ash fell like ash?” He said, “Why not say that?”
“I meant it covered everything. Anyway, we’re getting sidetracked again.” Chrys caught Darshan’s hand before it could quite grasp one of her petals again and gently tucked it back in his lap. “So ash rained from the sky, and the gods fought each other with armies of mortals. This was the Age of Fire, when it all nearly ended. But, not all the immortals had lived near the Spire or in the Divine Realm. There were a few gods and dragons who had mingled with mortals here before the Cataclysm. Not only were they not seared by the flames of the fountain, but they could see the destruction around them. They knew the world could not endure long as it was. So, they banded together and devised a way to save us all from destruction.”
The children leaned close as Chrys took advantage of a dramatic pause to drink some water.
“Using the Dragons’ songs of Creation and the power of the Gods, they formed a seal out of obstanite an-“
“Out of what?”
“Obstanite,” Chrys answered Aashi heasitantly as she tried to think of a quick way to explain, “It’s the rarest of all metals. Utterly impervious even to magic, a single coin of the pearlescent white metal is rarer than a mountain of gold, and it can be dropped into a volcano without even warming. Some say it isn’t really metal at all, but fragments of the Titans that were scattered over creation when the Divine Alliance destroyed them.”
“It’s a silly name.” Darshan objected, “Why not call it like Titanium or something?”
“I don’t know,” Chrys shrugged, “I always figured it was because smiths thought of it as a ‘stubborn’ metal. Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”
The children all nodded.
“Alright, they built this seal of a disc of obstanite and a web of mythril beams beneath. The device was so large that it took fourteen dragons to bear it to the blasted land of Tamhain, over the boiling Spireward seas.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Darshan objected, “Spireward seas are cold and stormy. Everybody knows that.”
“Shh!” Aashi hissed at the boy, “You’re interrupting, and being silly. The Spire was burning so hot it charred Heaven, of course the seas were boiling.”
“Thank you, Ashi.” Chrys rustled Darshan’s hair playfully. “The Dragons and the Gods bore the great seal onto Tamhain. It took all the power of the Gods to shield them from the Spire’s flames. Then, they found that the Spire was not entirely unguarded.”
“But I thought the Cataclysm destroyed everything and everyone in Tamhain with the first eruption.” Aashi blinked in pu
zzlement.
“It did,” Chrys smiled sadly, “The greatest city that ever was or will be, gone in an instant. But, it also woke something up. You see, even the combined might of the Gods and Dragons could not entirely undo all of the Titans. The spirit of their wisest, Typhon, escaped before his body’s destruction, and now his power lurks in the Aether over the great seas. Then, there was Borea, their queen and mightiest of their number. Though she was slain by the Gods by shattering her mind, they could not harm her body. So, they had entombed it where their power was strongest and no one could hope to reach it.”
“In the Spire!” Darshan exclaimed.
“Yes, and the Cataclysm roused her body.”Chrys smiled to herself as the children cringed and Darshan clung tightly to her side. “Her mind and spirit were still gone, long-dead, but her invincible form was animated by the raw, searing power from the Fount of Creation. Borea’s form burned with the thousand-colored flames of the fountain, but was not consumed. With her mind and soul gone, the magic of the fountain created a shadow to rule the body from the body’s memory. The result was a flaming abomination that remembered nothing but the fight against the other immortals . . . and its death at the hands of the Gods, the Dragons, and their mortal followers.”
“But it couldn’t be totally invincible, because they beat it right?” Aashi probed hopefully.
Chrys shook her head, “She is still there, trapped on Tamhain. In Spireward lands, like my home, you can sometimes see the lights of her flames in the night sky. They call it the Titan’s Dawn, and it’s supposed to be horribly bad luck to be outside when they light the sky.”
“A thousand colors dancing across the sky . . .” Aashi cooed, “Is it beautiful?”
“How would I know?” Chrys shrugged, “You’re not supposed to be outside if they’re there, and looking at them, that makes it worse. Anyway, no, they couldn’t hope to destroy her. Two of the Dragons broke from the company. Quetzalcoatl, the most beautiful of the Dragons, and her mate Jormungandr wrestled with Borea while the rest continued on to the fountain. At the Spire, the the shield of the Gods could no longer hold the power of the burning Fount of Creation fully at bay.”
The children all gasped.
“What happened?” Darshan asked breathlessly.
“They found a mechanism beneath the fountain,” A man’s coarse voice came from over Chrys’ shoulder, “One left unfinished by the Titans who originally built it. The Gods used their power to divide the Fountain’s power into the twelve elements and channel it through the mechanism.”
Chrys turned to tie a face to the voice that had just hijacked her story, and ruined the ending. A middle-aged man wearing an overly-vulminous, obscenely bright-colored outfit nodded to Chrysantemum before helping himself to a seat beside her and continuing without missing a beat.
“The Titan’s device carried the energy to the outer rim of the world, expelling it through the twelve gates around the edge of the Vault of Heaven. That moment was the First Dawn,” The man pointed aloft, “The Gods ascended the crumbling Spire and, with the fuel of the Fount of Creation cut off, were able to extinguish the flames that had ravaged the Divine Realm.”
Darshan started to object to something while Chrys began to mouth her own interruption at the adult’s commandeering of her story. Both were silenced when the man brought his palms together with a startling CLAP!
“BUT . . .” The man said to the wide-eyed, frozen children, “The mechanism was not simply some undiscovered relic, but a part of the Vault of Heaven itself. Once the gates were powered, the Vault was filled with the power of Creation itself, and the Gods were sealed in the Divine Realm; only able to reach the Mortal World with shadows of their power through omens, visions, and boons. Still, it was fortunate, for perhaps it was only the power of the Vault that shielded them from the plague that came after the fires died out.”
“Wait, a plague?” Aashi quivered a little, “One that could kill Immortals?”
“One that ONLY killed Immortals,” He replied with a serious nod. “But that is another story entirely. One that would make you all miss the festival treats they’re handing out.”
“What treats?” A chorus demanded instantly.
“Why,” The man blinked in mock-surprise, “The ones being given out by the Buros Gypsies I came here with. They’re across town. By now the adults have probably snatched up all of the honey buns.”
With a shout of alarm the children all stampeded off through the village. Chrys shot a disgruntled glance at the stranger before rising to follow the children. Honeyed buns didn’t sound half-bad, but she didn’t want to be alone with the strange man more than anything else. As though Loki himself heard her wish and decided specifically not to grant it, the man’s hand caught her forearm.
The man’s hand felt wrong. He wore no gloves, but there was no warmth from his hand, nor was his flesh cold. Chrysanthemum imagined it must be similar to being grasped by a waxen statue. She gave sharp tug, but failed to wrench free of the stranger’s grip.
“Let go!” Chrys grunted, “If I scream, my father will be here in two heartbeats, and his javelin can pierce a boar’s heart at forty paces.”
“Ah yes, Taproot the Hunter. And your mother, Alpinia, is one of the few of your kind who can use her Lifeweaving gift on more than plants.” The man gave a soft chuckle and released her arm. “Both are worthy of tales in their own right, but it is not their stories I came to discuss.”
At the mention of her mother, Chrys paused and eyed the odd man suspiciously. “Who are you, and how do you know my parents’ names?”
“I am the Bard, my dear girl.” The man chuckled, “For quite some time, I’ve made it my business to know any tale worth telling. In fact, that is why I sought you out, Chrysanthemum.”
1
Longmyst
Nian’s heart pounded in his chest as he hauled himself up over the last outcropping of stone. He staggered to his feet just in time to pull his ankle free of the coarse, green hand that grasped after it from below. Without pausing to glance back at his pursuer, the boy hurtled onward up the grassy slope, the sound of the nearby falls muting all other noise save his roaring heartbeat. The boy’s spirit leapt as he passed under the shade of a great, ancient oak, only a few more strides and . . . He never managed to finish his thought, as a great mass of fur and large, curved claws dropped onto him from the branches of the oak, pinning him to the ground as his pursuer surged up behind him.
Young Nian struggled vainly against his captor’s bulk and incredible strength as the other runner’s unshod feet flew past his head, bearing their owner to slap the thick trunk of the tree before turning in breathless triumph. The great beast atop Nian’s chest stooped to lick the boy’s face, leaving a long trail of tingly saliva.
Rowan-Willow turned back to face Nian and the massive beast pinning him to the earth. The plant-like Desaid bent his slim, wiry form to brace his hands on his knees and catch his breath as he blinked his large, pupilless eyes at his friend through the long tendrils of his vine-like hair.
When he had caugh a few breaths, the verdant victor chided the great beast, “Tombo, get off him, he’s turning blue,” and obediently, the large, sloth-like simian slid off Nian, leaving the young boy to roll onto his side and cough for air.
“No fair, you can’t use Tombo to block!” Nian finally exclaimed once he could breathe evenly again.
“I did no such thing, you know he likes to nab things that run, and he’s especially fond of you. You should have been looking where you were running.”
Nian glared at Rowan-Willow for a moment then surrendered into laughter. His verdant friend was quick to join into the mirth as he sank down onto the velvety rise next to Nian. Once he was certain the excitement had thoroughly dissipated, Tombo curled up in the sunlight nearby. The two friends sat catching their breath in the warmth of the late morning air and listening to the Frost
hold river roar over the falls beside them.
The great falls cascaded two-hundred feet to the lush valley below onto the crystalline surface of Longmyst Lake. The morning light, already bathing the high fields and dancing across the water, was only just reaching the rooftops of Longmyst, as the town lay nestled quietly on a low ledge between the fields and the waterfront. The sleepy township itself already bustled with morning activity, though it would be well on to noon before the mists fully retreated from its streets.
Across the lake, the Frosthold River took on a more tranquil pace than the rapids above the falls. Eventually, the water wound its ways across the fields of Tyre to the city of Four-Waters. At least, that was what Karen, Nian’s older sister, had told him. Nian never saw the point to travel. Between the lush fields of rich soil washed down from the mountains and the abundance of fish from the cool lake, there was little one need to go anywhere beyond Longmyst.
Rowan plucked a stem of grass and gnawed on its end contemplatively.
“Isn’t that kinda like cannibalism?” Nian queried.
“Less than when you eat beef. Desaid aren’t even plants, not really, we’re as close to humans as elves or dwarves. Shoot, I have a cousin I met once that was half-elven.”
Nian chuckled, “No kiddin’? Well in that case, when’s the next time your sister’ll tag along with ya?”
“Chrysanthemum?” It was Rowan’s turn to chuckle, “Forget it, you don’t have a chance.”
“Why? She’s always runnin’ after us when she’s here, and we get along alright. Plus she’s only a year behind you, so if she’s goin’ to start getting suitors, better me than some shiftless forest bumpkin.”
Rowan slugged Nian hard on the shoulder, “Hey, watch it, I’m a shiftless forest bumpkin. Besides, if you have to ask. . .it’s ‘cause of your hair.”
“What, just ‘cause it’s short? I can grow it out, even braid it up so it looks like Desaid locks.”