The stone in Vellonia was mined from the farthest points of Veresia; Feldon in the north, Argonesse in the east, Pollona in the south and Tyrrol in the west. Each of the four points contained unique energies. The realmists had guided these energies into invisible constructs to form a protection for the channels linking their world of Talia with the Second Realm.
The cliff faces overlooking the valley were peppered with large openings that led into the mountains and provided living spaces for the dragon inhabitants. Large golden spires rose to impossible heights from the verdant valley floor, climbing beyond the tops of the tallest peaks enclosing the city. The spires had originally been built to protect the city from above, but in these peaceful times also provided gilded beauty.
Thousands of years before, another race had lived on Talia. They had existed with one passion: to annihilate every other intelligent being on Talia, including the dragons. The Gormons were the epitome of evil; they fed off fear, pain, and anything of flesh and blood. They were unlike dragons in appearance but were their equal, or better, in almost every other way, including flying. The only defence from above was infusing the spires with energy from the Second Realm, which reacted solely to their enemy.
The Gormons were banished from Talia with the uneasy accord of the realmists and dragons, but not before the Gormons had laid waste to what hadn’t already been destroyed by the war. Human and dragon populations had been decimated; only those who had managed to hide in the depths of Vellonia had survived. The alliance between the humans and dragons had held since that time, though some humans still feared the larger creatures’ might, which was, if truth be told, cultivated by the dragons. A few of the mighty creatures, who felt they were the superior race, had circulated tales of their enormous strength and power: these same dragons had also started rumours that some of them occasionally liked to eat people. Zim, however, was not one of these dragons.
Zimapholous commenced the descent into Vellonia; his scaly mouth exposed sharp teeth in a blood-chilling grin. Warm red and gold rays filtered down to the valley floor as the sun set behind him, illuminating everything in its path. The spires appeared to be on fire, capturing and magnifying the sun's rays; Zim couldn't help but think they were going to turn molten and drip to the valley floor. The buildings far beneath him reflected the reds, pinks, and yellows, altering the hues to incorporate the colour of the stone. Oranges, greens, and blues winked among the fiery light and made a haze of colour along the valley floor almost too bright to behold.
Jaz stood outside the shimmering palace and watched Zim's graceful descent as he swooped around the spires, playing in the thermals above the valley. She wondered what her second-born son had been up to during his two-year absence. Jaz had occasionally spoken with him via the Second Realm, but Zim had been reluctant to divulge too much in case their enemies were listening.
The young dragon alighted before his mother, black scales absorbing the setting sun; no pretty colours reflected off his smooth armour. Jaz, on the other hand, was silver. Her scales reflected her surroundings, making her too brilliant to gaze upon at times; she enjoyed dazzling others.
The dragons rubbed noses, whispering ancient greetings in an archaic, musical language. Dragons, as a rule, were big on ceremony; it fitted with being imposing creatures. As a race they were civility personified, full of thees, thous, pleases, sirs, thank yous. They could become quite put out if formalities were not observed. No dragon wanted to be considered a mindless beast. The aim was to appear terrifying, but in a polite and cultured way.
After Zim landed, word raced through the city that the king & queen's son had returned. By the time the prince and his mother reached the throne room, a crowd had gathered to receive them.
The dragon queen and her son halted momentarily at the entry whilst they were announced. The guard ran clawed fingers over a large harp that stood just inside the door. Loud, sweet notes cascaded around the room, hushing the throng. The guard cleared his throat and announced them. "All behold! Here before us comes Jazmonilly Accorterroza the Shining Light of our kingdom, Queen and loyal wife to King Valdorryn Accorterroza the Second. Accompanying our Shining Light is Zimapholous Accorterroza, son of King Valdorryn and his loyal wife Queen Jazmonilly. He has journeyed two years and covered much territory to be with us here today."
Zim's father sat on his throne, which resembled an ornate bench seat. The dragons’ large tail and wings made sitting in a conventional chair impossible, so the palace had been furnished with bench seats. Valdorryn’s throne comprised timber inlaid with gold and platinum, the legs carved in intricate shapes depicting nature’s wondrous and varied creations. Dragonflies flitted above frogs and flowers, bugs great and small nestled into carved nooks, deer, birds and vines entwined around ancient trees. The closer one looked, the more creatures seemed to be hiding among the foliage.
Zim's older brother stood beside their father; only Arcese, his younger sister, was absent. Zim knew she would be in the Temple of Cremornus, God of the Second Realm, preparing for tonight’s meeting of The Circle.
For all their love of ceremony the King of Dragons fidgeted in his seat, impatient to talk to his son. He was excited that Zim had returned safely and wanted to hear news of the world. King Valdorryn had injured his right wing some thirty years ago in an embarrassing incident involving drinking too many fermented gozzle-bush berries and colliding with an ill-placed tree. In consequence, he was unable to fly long distances; being too proud to walk anywhere, he was confined to his valley. He met any news of the outside world with enthusiasm.
The king spoke before the guard could expand on his introduction. "Welcome to thee my lovely wife and far-travelled son. Please enter and attend me, that mine ears might be caressed by the sweet music of your travels." The interruption had the desired effect. The guard stood with his mouth open for a minute then shut it and withdrew. Zim and his mother approached the throne.
King Valdorryn rose and offered his wife her place on the bench throne. He embraced his son in a large, scaly hug. "Thou lookst well, my son. So what news? What news?" Zim smiled.
"Well, Sir, I have seen a lot in these past years and have many a tale. First, I must say that I am hungry, for in my eager flight home I ignored the tasty sheep grazing on the plains. I have been as far as Orton Island to the north and Zamahl to the west." His father's smile disappeared at the mention of Zamahl, and an audible intake of breath came from his mother and the remaining dragons.
The king abruptly addressed those of the court who were present and now had scaly expressions of worry. "My son is tired and hungry after his long journey. I wish him to rest and join Us for dinner this evening. That is all." The room quickly emptied. No one wanted to hear of any news from Zamahl. Not a great deal was known about the western continent. Any information that managed to filter through usually contained chilling accounts of violence, evil, and depravity. The dragons feared that just going there would mean losing your soul to unspeakable wickedness. Valdorryn spoke to his son mind-to-mind. "Meet me in my chambers in one hour." The king gave Zim a parting hug and made his exit.
Zim sent a servant to fetch a meal to his room and made the familiar trek to his much-missed chambers. He’d had weeks during the homeward journey to decide how to tell his father all he had learned, but now that preparation didn’t seem enough. All that the dragons, and Talia, had dreaded for centuries was approaching—and they weren't prepared. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was not hunger. How could they possibly prevail this time? What could they do that they hadn't before? From all accounts it had been luck at the last moment that had sent the Gormons from this world.
As he made his way to his room, Zim sent a prayer to the skies. "Oh, Mighty Drakon, what can we do?" It was more or less a rhetorical question, so Zim tripped and almost fell over when he received a booming reply.
"Zim, my son, the Gods are with you. Have faith." The response from the Dragon God reverberated throughout the city. It was the first time in a
thousand years that Drakon had reminded his children he existed. Zim tried to regain his composure as he passed his parents in the hallway. They were picking themselves up off the floor. He could only offer a shrug in answer to their distressed looks as he didn't trust himself to speak.
King Valdorryn was the first to break the silence "W…, w…, was that who I think it was?" He was staring at his son, eyes open as wide as they could go. "Was he speaking to you?"
The booming voice came again. "Yes I was, Val, and I must say, your son speaks to me more than you do. When was the last time you prayed to me, hmm?" King Valdorryn winced, shutting his eyes tight whilst his wife fainted to the floor. By the time the king opened his eyes, Zim had left. He saw the queen lying on the floor and went to assist her. He was about to ask the heavens for divine help and stopped at the last second; this was one job he preferred to do himself.
4
Bronwyn stepped into the night, breathing deeply of a sweet coolness. She heard the door close. Avruellen stepped around from behind and held one of the girl’s soft hands between both of hers. "Life moves on—sometimes we choose when and sometimes we are chosen. I'll miss this place too, but there are so many other places in this world where you’ll be just as happy, if not more so." Bronwyn tried to smile, but remained unconvinced.
"I have a feeling we're not going to another nice place just yet, and frankly I'm happy here." Avruellen didn’t answer. "Do I have time to say goodbye to Corrille?"
"Sorry, my love, but there’s no time. Don’t make me go through it all again." Bronwyn sighed even louder this time but didn’t argue.
Bronwyn and her friend Corrille had done everything together since they were children and were often referred to as each other's shadows. Bronwyn wondered sadly if she would ever see her again.
The sun had gone, but a full moon lit their way; it seemed to be trying to make it as easy as possible to find their destination. Avruellen led, and Bronwyn found herself having to jog every now and then to keep up. After half an hour they turned off the dirt road, and Bronwyn guessed they were headed for Borgen Wood. She had spent many a happy time in the woods, meandering silently through the trees to spy on the animals that lived there. Sometimes, if Bronwyn sat as still as she could, a squirrel or otter would approach her on soft paws and sniff around for a while. Bronwyn hadn't met many people in her life, but she tended to think animals were better company, with the exception of Corrille of course, especially after hearing some of her aunt's stories about past wars and many continuing injustices in the world.
They reached the edge of the trees, and Bronwyn looked up to see the moon sitting higher in the sky, dark clouds beginning to obscure its clean, white light. They entered the canopy of Borgen Wood, and the light disappeared behind them. Flux met them inside the tree line and assumed the lead from his mistress. Bronwyn, unexpectedly, could feel her excitement and anticipation building, almost stronger than her sadness at leaving the only home she had ever known. She had never attended a meeting of The Circle but had wanted to be a realmist for as long as she had known her aunt’s secret. Tonight she would get a glimpse into their mystical world and she hoped she was competent to do what her aunt asked of her, especially with other realmists watching. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see, dear. Not far now." Avruellen ignored the annoyed grunt from behind.
Travelling further into the centre of the woods, the trees thickened until their path was almost too narrow to follow. Every now and then a low branch or long-fallen trunk hindered their progress. As much as she trusted her aunt’s skills, Bronwyn would have been afraid of getting lost if Flux hadn't been guiding them. An hour before midnight they entered a small clearing, twenty paces across. They walked to its centre, where the remains of a campfire blackened the earth. "Sit down and rest, for we have much work to do later, and I don't want you falling asleep on me." In reality Avruellen knew there was little chance of that. She watched her niece rush to obey, sitting and quickly moving a sharp stone out of the way of where she would lie; unfortunately Avruellen did not share her excitement.
Bronwyn lay on her back next to long-dead coals and gazed skyward. The ground she lay on had been smoothed by years of passing strangers who had used this hidden place to rest for the night. No branches hung above them here: her view to the heavens was unobscured. The stars no longer shone, and the moon had disappeared completely, the clouds blending in with the dark sky; it was like looking at a boundless, black nothingness. She shut her eyes, tired after the long walk. Bronwyn could hear Avruellen pacing, moving to the north, east, south, and west points, setting candles and chanting an ancient ward to protect them while the meeting took place. Bronwyn could feel the breath of disturbed air as Avruellen passed behind her on her way to the southern point.
When Avruellen had completed that task, she sat inside the north point of her ward, next to Flux, who stayed close for her protection, just in case. "Bronwyn, please move to the true south point. I’m ready to begin." Avruellen’s usually kind voice had changed to the authoritative one she used when practicing her craft. Bronwyn stood and moved to sit opposite her aunt. Bronwyn closed her eyes and meditated. She fought the excitement of knowing she was to travel to the Second Realm, each measured inhalation drawing her awareness further inward.
Deep inside her being, where the only sound was the rhythm of her slowing heart, she waited for her aunt's command. Avruellen watched the sky, waiting for a signal. Some minutes passed before the clouds dissipated to reveal a red, angry moon. She mouthed a quick and silent prayer to the gods. It had begun. "Seek the Second Realm and find The Circle." It was hard to keep the tension from her voice, but it was important not to alarm her inexperienced niece. The critical task Bronwyn had to perform would fail if she had any doubts or fears about the job ahead.
Bronwyn searched methodically and found the pinprick of light that signified her life force. From here she would find the path her essence would follow to the Second Realm, where she could harness power, or, in this case, find the circle of light to link to and create a path for communication. Her awareness searched for the nearest corridor—not easy to find, a black hole in the darkness. If she concentrated on the image of her symbol, she would be pulled toward it and into the Second Realm.
She pictured every curve, line, and angle symbolizing her unique emblem. Her awareness was subtly pulled toward the corridor and the Second Realm, a movement so gentle it was almost imperceptible. She felt her awareness transported through the corridor, which was blacker than black, cold and infinite. When she entered the Second Realm she was overcome by warmth; she felt protected. A myriad of billions of symbols was an awesome sight, each symbol a brilliant star moving like sparks from a fire, some darting and some drifting through the boundless night that was the Second Realm.
She felt renewed, and her awareness glided with a confident purpose. She searched for a spinning circle of light that had the marks of any of the other four realmists who, together with Avruellen, were The Circle. Everyone had their own, individual symbol, and some were brighter than others. She would look at one symbol only to see it disappear and another appear nearby; symbols materialized when someone was born, winking out when they died.
Realmists only shared their symbols with those they trusted implicitly, as it enabled another to contact you mind-to-mind or find where you were within the First Realm. Anyone strong enough in the magical arts, good or bad, could invade one's dreams and even consciousness with this knowledge. Only a small portion of the population was capable of accessing the Second Realm as most had never been schooled in the secrets of the realms. As such, many held a superstitious fear or disbelief of it. Nevertheless, everyone's symbol existed within the Second Realm.
Bronwyn spied a spinning circle imprinted with three of the realmists’ symbols. Before she attempted to connect, she glided around to ensure it was not being spied on. The apprentice saw nothing untoward, so she moved to the circle and intoned the secret password that would ena
ble her to link with the communication disc. When her password was accepted, her awareness was pulled into the circle. She found this uncomfortable, for at this point she was giving some control of her mind to those connected to the disc who were stronger than her. From now on she could not leave the circle until permission was granted, usually by the strongest within the link. In the distance she heard Avruellen voicing her encouragement.
Although the circle of light appeared to be spinning when viewed from the outside, within its confines all was calm and dark. Bronwyn imagined this was how it felt to float in space. Three of the realmists had entered before her. Agmunsten, who was the strongest of The Circle and was reputed to be over 500 years old, had short, white hair; a long white beard adorned his lined face. He exuded the calm and mystery of a still lake. His dark, intelligent eyes full of life, twinkled with the promise of jokes yet to be told, mischief yet to be unleashed.
Elphus was young in comparison, 184, however in addition to studying sorcery he had a second love in life. He had married young, before his commitment to realmistry and the unnaturally long life that accompanied it. He had outlived his wife of 60 years. The pain he endured after she died had never left him, so he found a new love, food. His clothes stretched tight over his enormous belly, which sagged over his legs, and Bronwyn wondered how he managed to walk. When he nodded his greeting to Bronwyn and her aunt, who had entered when Bronwyn was safely inside, his many chins jiggled, which continued for a few seconds much like the aftershock of an earthquake. Thick black eyebrows overshadowed deep-set eyes and spider veins webbed his sallow face.
Their essences in the Second Realm were invisible, but out of politeness, each realmist conjured a diaphanous image of themself, which encased their symbol and moved as a body would have, were it there. Due to her lack of experience, Bronwyn remained as a symbol.
Shadows of the Realm (The Circle of Talia) Page 2
