Tritania's Reign

by J. A. Popovec

  One apparition flew in right after another, and after another… and another… This continued as the feminine voice from earlier chimed in again with an announcement that startled all who listened from the sacred land of Voltandria. “The time has come,” she whispered. “The evolution of repair must begin now. Pull all forces and mark this day as one that will give rebirth to centuries of gloom and despair…”

  A NEW ERA

  The revolving faces had ceased, and something entirely different began to happen. As the excitement surrounding the exploding supernova dissipated, the skies began to reveal one bright, however tiny in comparison, precise and special little star. It sustained itself and its strength within these new surroundings. It pulsated through a patterning glow that would repeatedly dim, and then shine brighter before dimming again.

  *****

  On the sacred land, the population of Voltandria was up against a wall of ever-present winds as the earth continued its spin. But the people of the mountain were strong, and they progressed in a fluid pattern along the perimeter, close to the water’s edge. They formed single-file lines as they prepared for what was needed of them next: They would become vessels for the power from above, to be used toward the generation of an energy flow encapsulating them all.

  CHAOS IN CENTRAL ZAUNDAURÏN

  Back in the village of Cantroïne, Runby was caught in the middle of the windy scene, providing guidance to many. Horses and wolfdogs were pacing frantically through the demanding atmospheric elements: They were running in patterns around and through the villages. Neighborhood folks were screaming and panicked, trying to grab a hold of their little ones before the wind carried them away.

  With the help from the celestial activity flickering in the distance, Runby spotted something to the south that stopped him dead in his tracks. His expression was one of alarm. A team of unusually tall black steeds were crossing the land beyond, and heading this way. His heart began to palpitate and his breath to quicken. “It’s here,” he exclaimed. “The time has come.” Runby Hobarts stood, fixated on the scene in the distance.

  Coming in from the west, a tall man rode stoic on his galloping horse as they entered the area. “Hobarts!” Fenir Warbuckle, a commander if ever there was one, approached and barked at Runby for his attention. “Hurry, Hobarts! We need to act now!”

  Fenir Warbuckle was well-known throughout all of Zaundaurïn. He, like Runby Hobarts, was of Nordic decent. He was a physically strong leader--slender in the core but overbearing everywhere else. Still, as commanding as he was, he would periodically have to work hard to get and keep Runby’s attention. Having not received a response yet from him, Fenir set his horse in motion, closing in on his friend.

  “Hobarts!” Fenir insisted.

  Runby was in shock, adjusting to the aggressive nature of the windstorm and chaos that surrounded them. Locals were moving in and about seeking shelter, and soon they’d no doubt be joined by villagers from the north expected to pass through on their way to warmer climates—the cold from up north could be deadly.

  Runby glazed over his friend’s call; there was complexity adrift, and Runby’s eyes told the story well enough. He called out to his commander and friend, “Fenir, help me with these tables!” Runby grunted as he aggressively lifted a heavy farm table from the party, thrusting it aside to make room for the incoming team of steeds to pass through. He appeared to be almost in a panic, predicting what would happen if the charging steeds met townspeople who were unable to navigate out of the way quickly enough in this powerful wind.

  “C’mon friends, move quickly, please!” Hobarts punctuated as he tried to stimulate a hastier response from his friends. “Quickly!” he yelled to some frightened and confused patrons, directing them to move out of danger and toward their homes. When Runby turned to the next table, reaching his arms underneath for a solid grip, he called out for help again, “Help me with this, Warbuckle!”

  Referring to the black steeds approaching from the south, Fenir instructed his conscientious buddy, “Leave them, Hobarts! The horses… they are for us! The others cannot see them!”

  Just then, one of the charging steeds brushed against Runby and ran directly through the table, sans any impact or injury. Runby pulled away in surprise and alarm. His expression was one of bewilderment and he looked to his hands, as they had just been grasping a solid table—or so he thought… He then glanced ahead to the horse that just brushed him. He needed a moment to shake off what he just saw.

  “They cannot see them at all,” Fenir continued. He was almost smiling, enjoying the simplicity in explaining such an intricately designed turn of events.

  When Runby looked down to the table in front of him, he was mystified at the horses that had continued to run through the table, as if it didn’t exist. Hobarts then looked beyond to the crowd of remaining patrons, and a massive gust of wind took the place of the rushing black horses. “They cannot see them at all…” Runby momentarily thought out Fenir’s words to himself. It was a strong wind that he was witnessing as if through the eyes of the others, and a force to let be as it headed northbound, opposing the patrons who were headed to their homes in the southern villages.

  The tree roots below poked out from the earth and wrapped themselves around the table Runby had been trying to lift moments ago. When he saw this, he backed further away.

  In the distance, another train of black steeds was rushing northeast when it shifted direction, and began heading straight for the two men. “Prepare to mount, Hobarts!” Fenir commanded, trying to get his friend’s attention—but he was now competing with yet another, far more awe-inspiring sight. Fenir was aware that this was all new to his novice friend, and so a bit of patience had been factored in ahead of time; he momentarily redirected his attention to wrangling the local horses and wolfdogs. Runby Hobarts’ attention could not be pulled.

  *****

  Off to the direct south and from high up within the elastic tree canopies, some type of unrecognizable bird appeared. There were more than just one; there were three in total, and they shot out from the treetops at lightning speed, crisscrossing as they swapped locations. They looked like oversized blue jays, but with a more extreme, feather structure that protruded far up from the front, and toward the back of the crown.

  They were the height of an adolescent boy, which made the birds look almost prehistoric. Runby’s eyes were glued to them as they soared with precision… there was no telling if they were of the destructive nature or a helpful presence.

  As they plummeted from the expressive canopies 200 feet up, they appeared to have already had their individual targets picked, and they took aim. In one gracious swoop, they each lunged from the trees and onto the charging horses without hesitation.

  *****

  Returning to the scene from wrangling the local animals and recruiting the majority of them for his cause, Fenir thought he’d give wrangling his friend another try. “Runby! Prepare to mount!” Fenir commanded his friend. But Hobarts still could not be distracted from what he was witnessing: the tempering winds; the tall wild horses coming in from the south; the giant blue jays; the frantic people all over, running mad through the flickering daylight. Still, our community hero stood frozen—unable to budge as he watched in awe of what he was seeing. The more he watched, the further he got caught up in it all.

  Suddenly, three more blue jays appeared from within the treetops. Like the others, they swooped in and claimed their horses. But as he watched them take off in the northern direction, Runby Hobarts dared not blink as these never-before-seen giant aerial vertebrates did next what he could’ve never imagined. The view depicted the tall horses as being extremely wild, and the man-sized blue jays that sat on top acted as their anchor points, taming and honing the horses’ progression forward. The blue jays aimed for perfection until the strength was forged to lift the 2-ton horse from the earth and into 10-foot leaps, before plummeting back down for the next galloping pace.

  What were these exquisite
blue creatures? Runby had never seen anything like them. Certainly, they had to have existed before now; they were too knowledgeable, too skilled to have never before graced the earth. They were swift and powerful—elegant… and yet too complex of an enigma for Runby to challenge at the moment. So, rather than question them further, he just stared in awe. He knew the time would come later to learn more about them.

  AN OUTPOURING OF SUPPORT

  Miners, blacksmiths, and loggers poured in, on horse and foot, from all directions. They held up well against the force of the wind, and were determined to stay the course. Fenir took notice of this immediately, and began counting, grouping people together as he saw fit.

  Scanning the crowd, he could swear he managed to count about twenty wolfdogs—fifteen of which he had never met. The corners of his mouth stretched out into a bit of a grin. He was glad to see such a healthy number of wolfdogs appear. Wolfdogs were very loyal creatures and the increasing numbers of them meant that support from the environment was being provided for their existence. Fenir dismounted, and scouted out a few, directing them to join particular groups of riders who had not yet been paired up with their equine teams.

  As people continued to arrive, many showed up in small groups, and marched with pride directly to their commander, Fenir Warbuckle. Some were accompanied by even more wolfdogs; if Fenir could have his way, there would be one wolfdog to each human counterpart. Periodically, someone would arrive completely unaccompanied, and again, Warbuckle would direct a wolfdog to join forces with that person.

  A man in his twenties and on a horse of his own moved swiftly past, noting the man in charge and then speeding directly to Runby. It was immediately obvious that the two men knew each other and had history. Larwig Vanowen had a big chip on his shoulder, but Runby Hobarts knew the story behind it. Still, he didn’t know him well enough, so held nothing against the younger man and was even happy to see him show his support.

  “Larwig Vanowen,” Runby acknowledged.

  “Runby Hobarts,” the younger man spoke loudly to be heard. His body language suggested that he was asking for a position within the company. “Runby, you know I’m good for it,” Larwig continued.

  Runby sported a kind expression. He was brought back to his own youth when someone gave him his first chance. He would like to put his young comrade to good use, and looked to his friend and commander for an approving nod.

  “I’ll take her,” Warbuckle affirmed, deliberately ignoring Larwig and instead, indicating the woman on foot approaching the scene. “Get her a horse with us.”

  Larwig’s expression changed to one of malice now, having been turned away. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he quickly took charge of his horse, and removed himself from the scene. Runby, being a humanitarian, braved a statement to his friend.

  “Keep your friends close, your enemies closer…?” Runby shouted over the wind.

  “That’s false,” Warbuckle fired back, getting back on his horse. “He is not one of us, that’s true. I do not wish to have his hate-filled remarks in my company. Besides,” he smirked, “from a distance, it’ll be easier to spot him… As the enemy.” Runby had no choice but to accept this response–he had a great deal of respect for his friend in charge, and he knew that an equal degree of respect would always be reciprocated.

  “Very good…!” Warbuckle noted as he observed the windblown crowd of fifty men and women, fifty paired horses, and fifty brazen wolfdogs, all weathering the storm. More soldiers would join later, he was quite certain. Through the boisterous winds, he addressed the crowd, “You’ll head straight north, through the villages. When you pass Coldcotter Village, line up along the 45th parallel. Wait for me there. We grab our torches at the one-twenty cross.”

  The wind kicked up speed, challenging Commander Warbuckle to project louder, “Then, we’ll on to Trickling, and we will light there! The locals will have vacated, but the Swedish Viking Torches are built to outlast these winds!”

  THE TIME IS UPON US

  In Voltandria, on the second tier up the sacred mountain beside the ocean, hundreds of riders on white, ivory, and tan colored horses were mastering the storm; they covered the land, moving from one side of the mountain to the other—the lashing waves now hundreds of yards below them. Hooves were pounding and taking risky steps on the winding, crumbling pathway that wrapped upward, around the exterior of the mountain.

  Up at the top, and within the row of Searching Trees, several women cloaked in long gowns stood—each accompanied by a pair of angelic white stags. Each feminine figure selflessly and patiently waited to surrender her soul to the mountain for the ultimate purpose.

  Within the darkened cave, a large feminine statue sat in a type of meditational position. Intriguingly, there were three sets of arms on this statue, and they were all symmetrically extended out varying degrees to the sides, palms facing up.

  On top of the cave’s exterior and directly in alignment with the statue from within were situated three people—two men to either side of Laraviea, the feminine presence. These three made up the ceremonial leaders.

  Laraviea was unusually tall, slender and fit, and provided balance to the two male figures in her presence. She stood almost reflective of the statue below, but with her two arms raised in a “V” position. It became suddenly obvious that these four minds - the three people on top and the statue within the cave - would all be working together.

  A moment of clarity revealed their positions had combined to form a horizontal diamond, which was a symbol frequently associated with Voltandria. In a formation such as this one, the leaders had selected this alignment specifically as it was designed to stream energy from the entire land for the heavily creative part of the process. And it was of absolute necessity too, for what they were planning to manifest was something extraordinary….

  *****

  In the sea below, dolphins were swimming, skimming the surface. Whales sung with urgency and command as they communicated out to the rest of their species. Waves crashed and receded onto shore in a quickened cadence that resembled a porch swing, rocking forward and back: Slosh-swoop. Slosh-swoop. Slosh-swoop. Slosh-swoop….

  Angelic chanting could be heard across the water, coming from within the elevated cave, from high up on the mountain. Liquid electronic and symphonic sounds were heard next, and the orchestra would continue to build.

  RUNNING MAD IN CANTROÏNE

  Across the globe, the entire population of Cantroïne was running mad, fighting the wind and snapping tree branches. More of the labors’ men and women teamed up, mounting horses and rushing northward toward the Alpines at the coastline, via direction from Commander Warbuckle.

  Runby Hobarts’s main concern was still the safety of his community. He was on auto-pilot and offered help wherever it was needed, including for the wind-enwrapped villagers from Trickling arriving on foot and donning animal skins for a layer of warmth and protection. Many of these folks were seen removing their cloaks and donating them to Fenir Warbuckle. These would come in handy for the company of soldiers preparing to head north.

  A young mother was trying to keep her brood together when her youngest was knocked off his feet in a gust of wind. “Caden!” the young woman screamed! A wolfdog’s growls and barks directed the commotion to above. He was pointing up into the tree, warning the family of the extremely dense and heavy tree branch that was getting ready to break off at any moment and land on them. The splintering sound was loud enough to cause further panic to the mother of three. Runby started in their direction as the branch began to fall. Then, in a surprising moment, the wind tore in and swept it in a different direction, out of the way of the family below.

  Runby’s overall perspective painted a different picture. The tree trunk sprouted new branches that reached out and grabbed hold of falling limbs, before any of them could hit the ground and cause destruction to the houses or people below. It was all beginning to become clear to him now; the more experienced Fenir Warbuckle
silently enjoyed a brief chuckle at this “ah-ha” moment from his friend.

  Domesticated villagers stumbled through the flickering nightfall and ferocious weather, summoning any last ounce of strength they had. Their knees tremored with each stride that brought them closer to their homes. Once inside, the people of Cantroïne used candles to help bring a sense of calm and safety back to their families.

  “Runby Hobarts,” Warbuckle commanded, “if you don’t prepare to mount, you will not return to this land again!” As hooves pounded the Earth, they synched up with Runby’s heartbeat. One of the black charging steeds from the south targeted him, and another two steeds, the commander.

  Warbuckle gave himself the needed head start. He engaged and pushed north on his horse. He would have to be in full gallop and lined up side-by-side with his warriors, if the three horse bodies were going to merge and become one.

  Runby’s horse came to a full slide, leaning down, allowing for his passenger to grab hold before tearing off at double speed to catch up with the rest. They were among the last, and took off in the same northern direction as the others.

  THERE IS GREAT WORK TO BE DONE

  Back in the mystical land of Voltandria, a power surge from the entire land was being summoned to the top of the mountain. It formed a layer of dry ice that started crawling upward from the shore and into the cave. As it moved slowly up the mountainside, it became clear that this substance was pure energy being pulled from the entire life force on Voltandria, and that every being had been cooperating in unison. As the smoky liquid reached the top of the mountain, it was quickly absorbed into the base of the statue within the cave.