Flames of the Dark Crystal

by J. M. Lee

  “I know,” he said. “It was because you had to make a decision and you felt like you had to make it alone. I know it’s your destiny to become a leader. I just don’t ever want it to be at the cost of losing you as a friend.”

  Naia grabbed his shoulders with both hands.

  “You’ll never lose me as a friend,” she said. “I promise.”

  He returned her embrace. When they parted, Kylan looked as relieved as Naia felt. They stood at the edge of the pavilion and watched. Some of the Landstriders had been recovered, their tall legs and big ears casting bizarre shadows as they galloped past the fire blazing in the hearth at the center of the pavilion. But there were not nearly the number there had been, and in the dead of the night, the Spriton had been caught by surprise.

  “We have to stop them,” Amri whispered. “We have to stop them from attacking. But I don’t know how. It’s just like with the Skeksis. We can’t attack them, so how are we supposed to defeat them? How do we end a war without fighting?”

  She wondered if the other Gelfling clans they’d already met were doing the same—taking up swords and spears and preparing to fight. The violence would only grow upon itself. Feeding itself. A monster that fed on its own hatred and fear. The Skeksis were the ones that had created the monster and let it loose upon itself.

  “We have to do something,” she whispered.

  But what? Naia held her breath as she watched the torches of war light. Killing the Skeksis was wrong for what it would do to the Mystics. She knew that now. But even more than that, killing the Skeksis would not kill the dark thing they’d awakened in the Gelfling. Like the darkened creatures that had looked into the purple crystal veins, the Gelfling clans had been corrupted in their own way. And turning their hatred and anger against the Skeksis would do nothing but feed the darkness within them, until it consumed itself and them entirely.

  Naia and Amri both jumped when Kylan pushed past them, a stern ripple creasing his brow.

  “Kylan—where are you going?”

  “Meet me at the hearth,” he said, voice laden with determination. “This song teller has something to say.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Naia was waiting for Kylan as he marched past Maudra Mera, toward the hearth that blazed at the center of the pavilion. He climbed up onto the stone wall that kept the fire contained and lifted his firca. The single, piercing note silenced every voice in the pavilion. Even the Landstriders stopped, turning to find the silhouette of the little Spriton song teller standing in front of the fire.

  In the hush that followed, someone whispered, “Is that Kylan?”

  “What is he doing?” Maudra Mera asked, staring from beside Naia.

  “Listen,” Naia said. “Listen, and see.”

  Once he had everyone’s attention, Kylan lowered his firca. The outline of his shoulders wavered in the fire and heat of the Spriton hearth, betraying a tiny tremble of nervousness. Then he raised his lute and sang.

  Let me tell you a song of another time

  In a world green and good, in an age of wonder

  Three Suns crossed above for a thousand trine

  Three Moons in the river flowing under

  Then a shaft of light fell from the sky

  And eighteen stars descended

  Some of the Spriton paused to heed to the song teller, while others had stopped for only a moment to take note of him before going back to sharpening their spears and readying for battle. But the longer Kylan sang, the stronger his spell became. Slowly, one at a time, the Spriton stopped to listen.

  For a thousand trine, the stars watched the land

  With wisdom of fire and death and life

  Then the Crystal cracked at their impatient hand

  Thus our world split into an age of strife

  Two races then appeared: the gentle Mystics

  And the cruel Skeksis

  At first, as Kylan sang, Naia heard his voice. The rich words in song, but that was all they were: words, that rang through her ears, riding the notes of his lute. But as she listened and watched, she felt something begin, as it always did when Kylan sang. The words and the music held one another. Closer and tighter, dancing through her mind. As they did, they gave life to new sensations. She could see the light of the urSkeks descending to Thra, could feel the heat of their radiance burning through the sky. Even the scent of the Crystal Chamber—dust and the metallic sour of space burned by the energy that erupted outward when the Crystal cracked—filled her nostrils though she knew she stood far from the castle and the chamber, the air full of trees and grass and the smoke from the Spriton hearth.

  The Mystics forsook the castle and vanished

  While the Skeksis remained with the Crystal of Truth

  They forgot the star-world from which they’d been banished

  Their eyes turned to Thra, craving power and youth

  They drank deep of the nectar from the flowers of Thra:

  The Seven Gelfling Clans

  The Skeksis supped on our Gelfling essence

  While deep in the castle, o’er a shaft of air and fire

  In pain and in need, its light evanescent

  The Crystal of Truth dangled blighted and dire

  But when the Gelfling learned what had happened:

  The Seven Clans resisted

  Oh yes, the Seven Clans resisted

  All the Spriton were listening now. Even Maudra Mera. They saw it, heard it, smelled it. Every Gelfling in the pavilion was held, enraptured, by the song teller’s spell. It was a kind of magic unlike any other. Perhaps, she thought, a magic to which Gelfling were particularly susceptible, for no matter the clan, songs were as close to the hearts of Gelfling as their vliya.

  The Sifa were first, in the bay of Cera-Na

  Gem-Eyed Ethri and a Far-Dreamer with fiery hair

  Gazed into the hearth on the coral Omerya

  Fanned the fire of resistance with the fresh ocean air

  The Dousan were second, in the dark of a storm

  Two brothers at odds: one captain, one thief

  Joined hands and blew on the summoning horn

  Lightning fire resurrected the great Wellspring Tree

  Alas, the Skeksis saw the fire of the Gelfling spread

  They ruined Stone-in-the-Wood. Killed the All-Maudra dead

  The Vapra were third, in the dark of their night

  Till a Shadowling climbed the ice cliffs by the sea

  Brought the Hidden Moon up to the snowiest height

  Let her message of hope light the Waystar tree

  Naia saw Onica and Maudra Ethri aboard Omerya. She felt the cold electricity of the storm over the Wellspring, the hard sand whipping her face in the pitch-dark. The murky depths of the oasis, where she and Amri had found the last living roots of the Wellspring Tree buried in mud. Amri leading them through the blustering night to the Waystar grove. Tavra’s noble voice as she’d spoken to the Vapra and reassured them that not all was lost. That there was hope, despite the things that had befallen them.

  Beside her, Amri looked on with the same pride that Naia felt, eyes alight with the same thrill. This was their story. Where they had entered the unending song of Thra. The resistance of the Seven Clans, the lighters of the Seven Fires. Aughra’s menders.

  Naia tried to find Gurjin among the crowd. He was standing across the pavilion with a group of Spriton in castle guard uniforms. To her surprise, he was looking at her. Not in anger but with the same hope that she felt.

  She let out the breath she had been holding.

  I’m sorry, she thought. Said, in her mind. She didn’t know if their dreamfast link was strong enough while there was such a rift between them. A rift she wanted to mend. She didn’t know if he’d heard her until he dipped his head.

  I’m sorry, too.

  She smiled and turn
ed back to Kylan. The song teller hesitated, strumming his lute as his eyes found Naia’s. He’d sung of the past and their successes, but now came the important part. The part they’d talked about, where his song weaved the dreams of the present and showed the Spriton what the future could bring.

  She met his eyes and nodded.

  I know you can do it, she told him without words. He must have understood her because he nodded back and sang:

  Charged by the Skeksis to raise up their spears

  The Spriton were fourth in the rolling green plains

  They listened, were wise, cleared the smoke of their fears

  Saw the path ahead lit with all seven blue flames

  And so four of the seven Gelfling flames were won

  More than half where there had been none

  Whispers rose like smoke as Kylan stood at the hearth fire in Sami Thicket and sang to the Spriton of the deeds they had done, if only in his imagination. Naia felt the fingers of inspiration tickling up her back as Kylan painted a picture of his heroic clan, brave and wise, taking hold of their futures despite the Skeksis Emperor’s scepter looming over their heads. Despite what had happened to their neighbor clan in Stone-in-the-Wood.

  “Could this be?” Naia overheard a Spriton warrior ask her fellow.

  “If the Spriton were to join the others, it would be the turning point,” another replied. “But if we don’t . . .”

  “Shush,” hissed yet another. “Let him finish!”

  It was no longer a memory that Kylan was describing, but a hope for the future. What came next would be more of the same; one song teller’s dream of what could be yet to come, shared with his people through the dreamfast of song.

  Please, let them see, Naia prayed. To Thra and to the Crystal. Maybe to Kylan, too. It was his hope that guided their imaginations now. It was his belief of how things could be. His words in his song. And his memories had formed the message that they’d sent on the petals of the Sanctuary Tree. This time, it was up to him to tell the song that was in his heart.

  The Grottan were fifth, in deep caves once called home

  Below the Sanctuary Tree, holding darkness at bay

  Then came flickering fires—they were no longer alone

  And the darkness was banished by their shadowy flame

  Sixth came the Drenchen under Sog’s Great Smerth

  As the maudra’s fierce daughter finally returned

  She had helped light the fires, from the fifth to the first

  And when she came home a hero, the blue fire burned

  Naia shivered when Kylan sang the words about her. Her triumphant return to Great Smerth. Stepping into the golden-green light that drenched the Glenfoot with warmth. Her mother and father waiting, her sisters diving from the branches of the great Drenchen tree to meet her. Her clan gathering under Great Smerth’s watchful shade, ready. Believing in her. Reaching out when she did, knotting fingers unto wrist in an unbreakable braid of hands.

  The vision was so overwhelming she didn’t notice Amri’s hand in hers until he squeezed.

  “So it will be,” he said quietly. Decisively. “So it will be.”

  The fire would light. Through all her other doubts, that was a thing she held on to more tightly than ever.

  “And then . . . ,” she whispered.

  Kylan’s song had brought them to the sixth fire. The near future—nearer than seemed possible, as if it were racing toward them.

  But no one knew what would happen once the seventh fire was lit, and all the clans had committed themselves to resisting the Skeksis. It seemed whenever they asked what would happen when all seven fires were lit, they were never answered. Neither by Aughra, nor a Far-Dreamer, nor Thra itself. For so long Naia had believed the fires would awaken the greatest spirit in the Gelfling of all—the will to fight back and defeat the Skeksis. Now she knew that was not their future, but like Maudra Mera, she had struggled to see a new path. A new goal to lay her sights upon.

  Naia fixed her eyes on Kylan as he stood before the Spriton hearth fire. Perhaps after all this time, it would be a song teller who had the answer.

  Only one fire remained, till all were lit for good

  All eyes turned to the ruins of Stone-in-the-Wood

  There the Gelfling clans unite

  There the Gelfling fires light

  The dream-flames etched on a sacred wall

  And there the Skeksis Lords will fall

  She saw it as he sang it, clear as day and night. In the ruins of Stone-in-the-Wood, the Gelfling came together. Kylan’s song told of strife resolved, the flames of the different clans combined into a single fire. One which blazed so brightly that it might drown out the shadows of the Skeksis. Not with weapons and war, but with light and song, in harmony with their world.

  The fire was distant, in their future, but Naia could hear it. Feel it, like the presence of loved ones in another room. And she knew that when the time came, the flames would be so bright and pure, their light would reach the Crystal itself.

  Kylan’s lute rang in the heavy air, reverberating as if the song might be over. Then, with the resolution of a master, he played the last refrain:

  What all started with the Crystal shattering

  This song teller’s ballad of the Gelfling Gathering

  All was still, all silent. Until Maudra Mera stepped forward, spear in hand.

  “Is this a Far-Dream, or just a song?” she asked, loud voice uncharacteristically awestruck as well. Kylan didn’t answer, breathing too heavily to respond. Wide-eyed, Maudra Mera turned to Naia and asked again in a different way: “Is it true?”

  Naia held out her hand, palm up.

  “It could be,” she said.

  Maudra Mera looked at Naia’s hand, then down to her own, where she held her spear. Naia held her breath, wondering if this could be the moment. The moment, like with Maudra Ethri or with Erimon of the Dousan, that the leader of the Spriton changed her mind.

  Kylan hopped down from the hearth and approached the two of them where they stood, surrounded by the Spriton in the center of Sami Thicket’s pavilion. Maudra Mera let out a pained sigh.

  “Naia. Kylan. I understand what you’re trying to do.”

  “You told us that you couldn’t see another future,” Naia said. It was bordering on interrupting, but she couldn’t bite her tongue forever. She raised her voice, hoping all the Gelfling in the pavilion could hear her plea to their maudra. “So Kylan has shown you one! The future in his heart. Can you see, now? Can you imagine what kind of future the Gelfling could have if the Spriton join them?”

  “I can see a version of the future if we follow a path, but if the Spriton were to turn on the Skeksis and light this—this fire of resistance—that would only be one step. The path diverges again and again,” Maudra Mera said.

  “So we keep our eyes and ears open,” Kylan said. “And when the path diverges, we look and listen. And choose the path that leads us to the future we seek. For a time, we may walk alone, and in those times it is easy to become lost. But I believe that if we listen and sing the same song, those paths will converge. Become one. Wide enough for us all to walk side by side. Together.”

  Maudra Mera was no longer angry, no longer had the edge of annoyance or the shadow of fear lurking in her sharp, dark eyes.

  “I fear the two of you do not understand how large the world is that you walk,” she said with a short sigh. It was the breath of a mother whose children had grown, a maudra who saw danger in their future but didn’t know how to stop it. She held Kylan by the shoulders.

  “I told your parents, years ago. When your mother left to build her homestead with that Stonewood out in the field. I told her, it was dangerous. Falling in love with a Stonewood, leaving the plains that were her home. Leaving her clan. But she didn’t listen. She told me that if she didn’t leave Sami T
hicket, she would spend the rest of her years wishing she had. Then she left, and together, they built a home on the border of the Dark Wood. Where you were born, Kylan. And for many years, I thought that perhaps I had been wrong.”

  “And then the Hunter came,” Kylan said, voice unwavering. “And after I went to live with you in Sami Thicket, I thought for many years you were right. But Maudra Mera, listen and understand. Our lives change every moment. You weren’t right to try to stop my mother, and you weren’t wrong during the years she and my father lived happily on the edge of the Dark Wood. Right and wrong change, or don’t exist at all. I left Sami Thicket feeling as if I would bring shame to my entire clan because I couldn’t throw a rock-and-rope. I returned as the song teller who spread the word of the Skeksis betrayal on the petals of the Sanctuary Tree, and who fought off skekMal the Hunter with a stone from a Drenchen bola.”

  A horn rang out across the quiet pavilion.

  Naia gulped. The soldiers that had stood in silence, listening to Kylan, turned at the alarum. More horns blew, until the thicket around the village was vibrating with the sound. Already she could hear the clamoring of soldiers calling orders to each other. Raising their spears and shields. The black silhouettes of their weapons cut through the light of their war torches, burning hot and red.

  At first Naia wondered if skekSa had returned. But then she realized it was not a Skeksis who had been sighted. Naia heard familiar drums, the knocking of wooden spears and heavy footsteps.

  “The Drenchen?” Amri asked, ears twisting to the sides.

  “The Drenchen,” Naia agreed, heart sinking.

  Kylan looked away from Maudra Mera and gazed across the pavilion, as if he might meet the eyes of every Spriton that stood there, dressed for battle, even as the Drenchen forces entered the thicket. As Naia turned her ears, she could hear their footsteps coming through the wood that surrounded the village, made out the clanging of the alarm bells and one of the Spriton blowing on the horn.