“It is incredibly hot in here. How can you breathe? The air is really thin,” Hertha complained.
“I don’t have time for your smart mouth. Out with it,” Ember said.
“Naunet discovered some information about the Grimoire Of The Land. It was in the hands of the Elves for nearly a millennium. We raided their village with our fiends. Although one Elf hindered us, we were able to take the grimoire. I used it and flipped acres of their village upside down. It was so much fun.”
Ember scowled at Hertha, and the girl cringed uncomfortably.
“Aren’t you happy?” Hertha asked with a wide bratty smile.
“This Elf that hindered you. Was he wielding a magic sword?” Ember asked.
“Yes, now that you mention it, his sword could shine a blinding light. I think it was enchanted with divine magic. He destroyed hundreds of our fiends with that one sword. I have to admit, I was impressed by him, and I wouldn’t dare get near him and that shining white blade of his.”
“Eckxio,” Ember whispered, “that Elf. His sword is made of zeustoss. You should have taken it from him.”
“I would have taken it, but that spell I used drained all my maju. I was too tired to fight,” Hertha replied, unpleasantly. “You should be glad that we have the Grimoire Of The Land in our hands. So ungrateful.” Hertha spun and headed towards the door.
“Wait. I want to see it,” Ember said.
She donned her scaly leather tights and cloak. They exited the chamber and descended the atrium with the small amount of cosmo that their omiack eye provided them. It was how they were able to fly without mastering aeromancy.
After streaming past five floors, they stopped and landed on the handrails of a hallway. Hertha opened the first door that was in sight and stepped into her bedroom. It was cluttered with gemstones of all sizes and colors. Above all gemstones, the most common in her room were topaz and agate. Her bed was covered in pillows. Paintings she had made hung on the walls, mostly self-portraits and rocky landscapes. A breeze came through the square frame window. Naunet was in the room, flipping through the pages of the grimoire. He sat with legs crossed on a comfortable chair without his mask.
“What are you doing in my room?” Hertha snarled.
“I wanted to look through the book. These illustrations are fascinating,” he said.
“You can’t even read Elfin letters,” Hertha replied. She entered the room, trying to avoid stepping on her items on the cluttered floor.
“This is in the language of the dragons. The Elves use the same alphabet, but the letters are used differently in their tongue for every word.” Naunet stood up; he closed the book and placed it on a pedestal.
Hertha lifted it and tossed it to Ember. She caught it and staggered back from the weight of the tome. It was heavier than a broadsword.
“I never knew that the grimoires were this big.” Ember stared at the cover. It had a design of a rocky landscape and mountains. She looked inside the tome. The ink illustrations inside the grimoire were very detailed, and some images were colored. There was a drawing of the earth dragon god, Terramus. Plants grew from the dragon’s back, and its skin was rough with embedded gemstones; mighty wings expanded on the page. Ember stared at the dragon and felt like tearing the page off, but she continued to skim through. Some paragraphs were written in common tongue, then there were drawings of mystical creatures ruled by the attribute. Chapters later, there were pictures of magical tools; one of them was the Emerald Cosmo Jewel.
“Do you know anyone that can read this language?” Ember asked, without taking her eyes off the grimoire.
“Not even the Elves can read the ancient language of the dragons,” Naunet answered, “perhaps, only a handful of a people in this world, but to find them would be tedious for us. I believe the authors purposefully wrote the books in this language, but that was two thousand years ago, after the death of Prodigus Kollos. Back then, many people spoke the language, but after Kollos died, languages changed and thus caused much confusion in the translation process. Another thing that puzzles me is that no one really knows how the common tongue started.”
Ember sat on Hertha’s bed and got comfortable. She kept looking at the book and flipped the pages.
“I just don’t understand. Prodigus Kollos’s apprentices travelled the world teaching the mystic arts to people from all continents. How was magic passed down for two thousand years after the authors died? People could not read the ancient language. The words we use to cast spells are ancient words, yet we don’t know what they mean, but know what they do. It’s almost as if mages have a natural instinct when shouting their spells. We already know what the words will help us manifest with our maju, yet we have no idea what it means. Mages throughout the world have been taught to shout ancient words mindlessly.”
Ember mulled for a moment, staring at the codex of the grimoire. She then stood up and looked at her friends.
“Do you two think that the pioneers wanted it to be this way? For us to be able to use magic without a trace of its origin.”
“Sure seems that way,” Naunet answered. “Prodigus Kollos wanted to return the gift of magic to the world, but he knew that many things would be forgotten. In the dragon bible, in the book of seers, there were predictions of what would happen in the future. One of the passages said that the original language would be forgotten until the dragon gods decided to release it. It sounds to me like there was power in speaking the language of dragons. Perhaps, the dragon gods do not want us to understand their tongue.”
Hertha and Ember looked at Naunet, but neither one had anything to say.
“I hate reading, so I don’t care. As long as we accomplish our mission that is all that matters,” Hertha said. “The only reason I was able to read the grimoire was because I just happen to know a few words of the Elfin language that I learned from Akielas long ago. Then again, the words would mean something different in the dragon language. I am surprised that I still remember.”
“For now, let’s forget about this millennium-old rubbish and carry on with our search for metals.” Ember tossed the book on Hertha’s bed. “We need more zeustoss. I have found a spot in the mountains of Burnahdujf, where we can find a decent amount for our invention. Dwarves live in those mountains, but they won’t be a threat to us.”
“You mean the Sainos Mountains,” Hertha assumed.
“Whatever the name is. We leave tomorrow at sunrise.” Ember exited the room and flew up the atrium to the smithing chamber to finish her work for the day. Then a thought arose, and she decided to follow it. Perhaps, Arkana might know.
She flew past the floor of the smithing room and ascended outside through an oculus in the ceiling. The skies were tranquil with grey clouds that gloomed the ocean. Ember balanced herself on a diagonal roof, one leg higher than the other. She gazed up and saw the ghost of her goddess hovering over the long pinnacle of her tower. The goddess gazed skywards at the grey clouds. Her face was mirthless, no iris or pupils in her eyes. She had a blank expression, no emotions, like the white mask that Ember wore.
The goddess’s cape billowed. She wore a tight hood that covered her head with a golden crown bedecked with gemstones of all colors. Her body was slender covered in a one-piece skirt dress. The goddess looked over her right shoulder. Her blank eyes glowed like moonlight.
Ember was hesitant to speak. A lump filled her throat. She was always nervous around Arkana.
“My lady, I only wish to ask you a question.”
“You may ask,” said the goddess. Her lips did not move and a mature feminine voice echoed like in an empty cathedral.
Ember levitated higher to the level of the goddess and tried to meet eyes with her.
“We have found the grimoire of the land,” Ember said with a shaky voice.
“Why are you nervous? Relax; you may express yourself freely in my presence,” the goddess replied, trying to put Ember at ease. Her ghost glowed. Ember could see the ocean behind the figure of the goddess. �
��I am glad to hear that you now possess the grimoire. Now, what is your question?” Arkana spoke in a dull tone, direct but with emptiness behind every word.
“My lady Arkana, do you know how to read the ancient language of the dragons?” Ember asked. “Although we have the grimoire, we feel that it is of little use to us if we are unable to read it. Please, guide me. Tell me who and where can I find someone that can read and speak the language of the dragons.”
Ember waited for an answer, but Arkana did not respond. She hovered over the pinnacle, gazing at the sky, and watched as the clouds made an opening for the two moons.
“I will not be able to tell you,” said the goddess. “I cannot tell you of anything that will reveal too much of your destiny and future. You must do this alone. Seek with your heart’s content, and you shall cross paths with the appropriate entity. You may try to ask another question.”
Ember clenched her teeth and balled her fist. She always tried to get an answer from Arkana, but the goddess would cut her words short. Ember wanted to control the future, but Arkana would not allow her. The goddess had already told her too much the day she revealed to Ember that she would, one day, have the privilege to rule Odealeous, without interruption of the dragon gods. Arkana showed Ember the future, and ever since then, Ember has been pursuing her dream. She lusted for it with the help of her group, The Specters.
“Very well then,” Ember said, displeased. She bowed to the goddess then flew into her tower, eager for tomorrow, and hoped that Akielas and his companions did not get in her way.
Auron
After seeing the vestige of Evee Iris, Auron could no longer wait for Akielas to make a decision. That night at the campsite with the Elves, Auron left and teleported to Amaranth island in the western continent. Home of the Amaranth tribe. The tribe of red-heads said to be blessed by the fire dragon god himself, Pyramus.
He left at dawn before anyone in the campsite woke. Flying through the unknown in the pentacle portal, he found himself outside the village where he grew up. The sun had already risen in that part of the world, while it hid in the horizon of the eastern continent.
He squinted at sunlight and shielded his eyes with his hand. The village was down a slope, lush with rich red flowers. Beyond it was a field of red roses of all shades, like a gradient of sunrise, oranges, reds and purples. Every hue that a painter could mix with red was found in the field of flowers.
Beyond the field of flowers was the village. Auron took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Last time he had been here, he was captured and called a black blood. The one born without the gift of fire. He was held prisoner and then thrown into a pit to fight for his life. He managed to survive and snatched the Crimson Cosmo Jewel from atop the vine throne. The jewel was then taken from him by Ember when he returned home to Burnahdujf. The king had sent Auron to find the cosmo jewel, believing it could revive the fallen prince. Auron discovered that Ember had manipulated the king into sending him on the long journey to find the jewel. Auron fought Ember with all his might but failed. Had Akielas not arrived in time, Auron could have died.
Auron had visited the island years ago, but he never entered the village. He was too afraid to face them again. Sometimes, he would wander the island to get his mind off things. Today, he intended to move out of his comfort zone and finally walk into the village and face them one more time.
Down the slope he went, feeling the intense maju of the Amaranth flower. Auron had a weakness against fire. The element made him sick at times, and absorbing any maju relating to the fire would hinder his ability to cast spells. Eckxio had taught him some techniques to channel his maju, but Auron still struggled.
He reached the bottom of the slope and walked on a path between the fields of flowers. He began to feel sick smelling the aroma of the flowers. It was a strange feeling in his gut. His body felt uneasy, yet there was no tiredness. The aroma gave him a headache that suddenly pulsed in his cranium.
The wooden gate of the village was just a mile away. Auron paused at a growling sound that rose from behind. He clutched the hilt of his sword on his back, drew a foot of steel, and surveyed the area. He jerked his head left, right and glanced back, but nothing appeared. It was like the growling of a dog. Vermillion foxes, he assumed. He had not forgotten the animals that guarded the village.
There was rustling within the field of Amaranth flowers. Auron drew his sword and molded his maju, preparing for the unknown to strike him. Abruptly, he saw the silhouette of a man leaping out of the flowers like dolphins from the water. A jet of fire was launched, and Auron deflected it with a slap of wind. Auron looked to see if the man was still there, but only the flowers were in sight.
“Amaranth brothers, I come in peace,” he shouted. Auron knew that they were hiding. A growl rose from behind again; he spun around and found a vermillion fox clenching its teeth. It was twice the size of a regular fox, with bright red fur and wagged three tails. Two more foxes came out from the field of flowers onto the path. Auron looked over his right shoulder hearing the rustling of plants. An Amaranth tribesman aimed at him with a bow and arrow. The man had hair as red as blood and skin suntanned, brown as wood.
“It is you again. You dare step into this village,” the Amaranth man said to Auron in his native tongue. Auron still understood the language, though he had not spoken it in years.
“I have come to see the chief. I do not want to fight,” Auron said, but the Amaranth man refused to withdraw his bow and arrow.
“You should know that you are not welcome here. I still remember what you did years ago,” the tribesman said. He was topless with flaming tattoos all over his upper body. “Chief Blossom would never allow you to enter the village. I know your story. You are the runaway Amaranth. The one we once called black blood.”
“Blossom?” Auron repeated.
“Yes, the village chief. She would never…”
“She?” Auron interrupted.
“Don’t mock me or I will have my vermillion foxes crunch your bones,” the tribesman threatened.
Auron sheathed his sword and dropped his guard. “Chief Blossom is my mother,” he said.
The tribesman slightly lowered his bow, and his glower turned to a solemn look.
“Your mother,” said the tribesman, he would not lower his bow and arrow. He stepped out of the field of flowers and onto the path. His foxes growled at his side. Auron raised his hands as a sign of relinquish.
“If you speak the truth, then hand over your weapon,” the tribesman commanded.
Without a question, Auron removed his sword from his back and tossed it over. Once it landed on the floor, the tribesman quickly grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder.
“What is your name?” the tribesman asked.
“Auron Fox. Son of Blossom of the Amaranth tribe. I wish to speak with her,” Auron answered.
“I will let you in, but if you make any hostile moves, then I will kill you and feed your flesh to my foxes.” The tribesman beckoned Auron to follow him, and they both walked towards the wooden gate of the village. Three vermillion foxes walked behind them. The wooden gate rose forty feet tall with vines lushing red flowers. Archers aimed down at Auron from atop the gate. The tribesman that guided him waved his arms signaling safety.
“Who is the outsider?” shouted one from atop the gate.
“Auron, son of Chief Blossom,” the tribesman shouted back. “He is unarmed and is only looking to speak with the chief. He will be under my supervision.”
The archers withdrew their bows, and the gate began to open. Large logs dragged, plowing the ground. As the inside of the village opened, Auron slowly began to recall childhood memories.
“Once again, outsider, I will tell you,” the tribesman muttered and glared at Auron, “any hostile moves, and we will feed your flesh to the foxes.”
The two amaranths entered the village. The gates behind dragged closed with four bulky men pushing it. So much has changed, Auron thought. Huts with round roofs made
of hay and oak wood. Tree houses connected with bridges and children ran on them. The roads were nothing but dirt with naked tree branches. Most plants and trees in the village had autumn colors. Inside the village, it was an everyday worship of fire and their mightiest source of energy, the sun. All the Amaranth men were topless with flaming tattoos on their bodies. Children had no tattoos, but their hair was a darker red, like burgundy. The older amaranths were losing the hue of their hair from red to pink, nearly white. Women wore small bras and skirts with burned ends.
Dreadlocks and braided hair were the tribe’s fashion, much like Ganicus. Auron saw men sparring, releasing flames. It was a brutal sport. They wrestled and redirected each other’s flames. Women spun and danced, creating a dress woven of flames. The people were as wild and energetic as Auron remembered them.
New houses were built since Auron last entered the village five years ago. The village had populated and expanded. As he walked with the guard that guided him in and three vermillion foxes behind, the people looked at him as if he were a rare species. They stared at him and whispered. People cleared a path, and women kept their children away from him. He looked up and saw tribesmen running over the wooden edge of the rooftops with spears.
Auron was not nervous and was sure no one would attack him. The Amaranths were aggressive to outsiders and amongst themselves, but they had morals in their way of life. Don’t start a fire if you can’t cease it, was their motto and Auron knew. As long as I remain calm, there will be no trouble.
The two Amaranths soon arrived at the statue of the dragon god of fire, Pyramus. Carved of marble stone, every inch of it was very detailed. The scales were six inches long, and it towered more than one hundred feet in altitude. It had ruby gemstones bedecked on it, and its wings were slightly folded vertically, helping it stand on two legs. Auron gazed at it agape; it never failed to amaze him.
Sin of Mages: An Epic Fantasy Series (Rift of Chaos Book 1) Page 17
