Rhydian: The Other Side

by Devan Skyles

  Suddenly noticing the number of people flying by, he turned and sheltered the bottle from prying eyes. If anyone knew he had this, he was liable to get robbed! He quickly opened the door and scuttled inside. He was no longer discouraged about his unsuccessful hunt. Now he’d be able to buy whatever meat he needed, or just about anything else, for that matter!

  Kinship

  Reveling in his new discovery, Rhydian wanted nothing more than to return to his secret threshold with as many empty bottles as he could carry. But in the off chance that the gateway was no longer there, he though it prudent not to lose his job at the forge. Rhydian walked across the room and placed the bottle of ilïmbalm on the dining table.

  “Rhydian?” a voice came from an adjoining room. “Is that you?”

  Rhydian turned and saw his mother walk into the room. She was small and a little forlorn, but with a lively gleam in her blue eyes. She had chestnut brown hair, exactly the same color as her feathers. “Where have you been?” she inquired.

  “I got caught in the storm,” he explained, “so I went to the other side.”

  “All night?” she replied with astonishment.

  Rhydian shrugged. He’d never been able to bring himself to lie to her, even when the truth might worry her. “I brought you a present.”

  “A present?” she said with a smile. “Has my birthday come early?”

  “It has this year,” he replied with enthusiasm, and he handed her the ilïmbalm.

  She smiled and squinted at the bottle in the dim light. “Is this what you were doing while you said you were hunting?”

  She raised the bottle and drizzled a scant amount of the red fluid over a bowl of round, polished stones on the table. As soon as the ilïmbalm touched the stones it sizzled and the stones illuminated the room brightly. She and Rhydian squinted, surprised at how bright the light was.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Must have poured a little too-” her jaw dropped as she saw the deep red liquid in the clear light.

  “It’s, uh,” he stammered, “It’s a little richer than we’re used to, so we might have to dilute it a little. But you can spend it on anything you want. Or we can save it and drink it for a special occasion. Whatever you want.”

  “Rhyd, I— I’ve never seen any so concentrated!” she exclaimed. “Wherever did you get it?”

  He didn’t know how he could possibly explain, so he just said, “We’ll talk about it later, Mom. I have to get to the forge.” And with that, he kissed her on the cheek and went out the door without even changing, leaving her gaping in disbelief at the bottle in her hands.

  The forge was near the top of the Monolith City, so Rhydian labored up through the still morning air until he caught an updraft that lifted him to the wide, stone balcony in front of the shop. There was a large, wooden door adorned with wrought iron latticework and a faded sign with chipped paint hanging above read: Ferro’s Swords and Steel.

  Rhydian pushed the heavy door open and entered. Within was a single, large room with countless swords and other weapons in various stages of completion. The walls and floor, like most of the Monolith City, were made of stone. The only light source was the orange glow of the forge in the center of the room, by which a large man was busy hammering a red-hot piece of steel against an anvil.

  The old man’s arms were strong and lean, cords of muscle like taught rope rippled with every swing of his hammer. His wings were so covered with soot that you could not determine their color, and there were countless tiny burn holes in his feathers from the showers of sparks that flew from his anvil.

  “I hope I’m not late, Mr. Ferro,” Rhydian said as he walked into the stifling heat of the shop.

  The old smith turned, startled at the sound of Rhydian’s voice. His hearing was not what it had once been. “Rhydian! I didn’t hear you enter.”

  “I’ll just get to work,” Rhydian said, grabbing an apron off a peg. He wasn’t particularly fond of his work, but it paid well, and Ferro was a fair boss.

  He walked over to the forge and saw that the heat stones were darkening in color to a deep purple; they were beginning to cool. From a shelf he retrieved a bottle of midgrade ilïmbalm and poured a generous amount over the stones. They instantly sizzled as intense heat waves rose from the forge. He squinted against the inferno and beat his wings forward to feed the blazing furnace with air. The color of the stones glowed a bright orange and some of them began to corrode and dissolve in the intense heat. When he was satisfied with the state of the forge, he heated a steel billet until it was red hot and started hammering away on an anvil across from his employer.

  When Rhydian first started working for Ferro a year and a half ago, he could scarcely manage the work. It was hard, tedious labor and he struggled to produce even one sloppy weapon a day. He’d go home every night dehydrated with sore, overworked arms and a deflated ego. Now, however, he was so adept at the craft that he could finish three fine, fully hardened and tempered blades while barely breaking a sweat. His arms had become toned and muscular, and he had refined the skill of working the metal to the point where many of his weapons rivaled those of his mentor. He took pride in his work, but still regarded the art with little enthusiasm. It just wasn’t something he was passionate about. Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he was passionate about.

  When he’d finished forging one beautifully crafted sword blade, he took it to the oil bath and quenched the piping hot steel. He then inspected it to ensure that it had not warped or cracked, wiped the blade clean with a rag, and set it aside to start on another.

  “Hold on, now. You’re making me look bad!” Mr. Ferro chuckled. “I’m going to have you deliver the rest of that order for Corvus. He’s been waiting for those weapons, and you’re the only one I have strong enough to get them there in one trip.” He set down his hammer and tongs and walked to the far corner of the room. There he retrieved a bundle of twenty two-handed longswords all strapped together. He hefted them out of the corner and leaned them into Rhydian’s arms.

  Rhydian lifted the weapons for a moment, testing their weight. About sixty pounds, he thought. He then promptly fixed the bundle with shoulder straps and hefted them to the door.

  “And don’t let that old crow swindle ya’, neither,” Ferro instructed. “I expect to get paid what they’re worth.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, and with that he strapped the swords over his shoulders in front of him and exited the building. The cool air outside was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of the forge. He wiped the sweat from his brow, synched up the straps on his load, and stepped off the balcony. At first, the weight of the weapons tugged him down, straining the muscles in his broad wings, but after a few flaps he began to rise laboriously along the wall of city stores and homes. For a moment he caught a breeze and circled to catch his breath, but before long he felt the warmth of a thermal updraft ripple his feathers and he angled his wings so he rose in a continual spiral into the sky.

  When at last he rose above the precipice of the great stone city, he looked down at the vast, open plateau near its peak. There stood the military headquarters of Ilimíra. It was fortified all around with stone walls and towers. Within the walls were aerial obstacle courses, archery ranges, and workout arenas. Fleet Soldiers could be seen engaging in aerial and ground-based combat scenarios throughout the vast complex. From this view alone it was clear that the Ilimíra Fleet was a force to be reckoned with.

  Rhydian angled down toward the command tower at the highest point of the complex. He sailed in smoothly and landed heavily on the balcony. As soon as his feet touched down he removed the bundle of swords and let it fall to the floor with a clamorous racket he instantly regretted.

  He looked about to see if anyone had noticed his blunder. When he saw no one nearby, he stretched his aching muscles, folded his wings, and hefted the weapons over his shoulder. He tentatively entered the command facility.

  “Excuse me,” he called. “I have an arms shipment from Ferro’s.�
�

  He walked into the big conference room to see the large officers’ table unoccupied, mounds of paperwork and tactical maps piled up and scattered across its surface. He approached and laid the weapons on the table, peering curiously at the maps before him. Most depicted areas he recognized from an aerial perspective. Many had complex indicators that charted the common wind patterns of particular areas, things he remembered from his school years, but had no recollection of how to interpret. Other maps showed places he had never seen before, and he grew intensely curious. None of the landmarks were familiar to him. The cities mapped appeared to span large sections of ground in grid-like patterns. These were not Ilimíri cities. He reckoned they must be maps of far off battlefronts in bordering nations.

  “That’s classified information,” an authoritative voice came from behind. “I could have you arrested.”

  Rhydian spun in surprise. Before him stood a very tall, muscular man in an officer’s uniform. He had large, jet-black wings and a broad fan of tail feathers. His hair was just as black as his wings, but with streaks of gray at the temples. Accenting his square jaw was a handsome smile.

  Rhydian instantly relaxed. “General Corvus!”

  He ran up and offered his hand. General Corvus took it in a firm, cordial grip.

  “Good to see you, Rhydian. How’s your mother?”

  “She’s well, thank you. I just came to drop off the last of your order.”

  Corvus broke contact and went to the bundle of swords on the conference table. “What do you have for me?”

  He pulled a dagger from his belt and sliced open the packaging binding the weapons together. The bundle fell apart and its contents spread noisily across the table. He seemed to care very little about the mess. Grabbing one of the two handed weapons by the haft, he held it erect and performed an impressive flourish in the air.

  “This is masterful work, Rhydian! Is this one of yours?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rhydian didn’t need to inspect it to know that it was indeed his work. Of Ferro’s apprentices, he had the most recognizable style. His blades were made from a pattern-welded billet that he folded the same way every time, creating a very distinguishable design on the steel.

  Corvus smiled and clapped a hand on Rhydian’s shoulder, holding the sword up in front of them. “This masterpiece of yours will bring another one of our courageous brothers back home from the ground. You should be proud.” He handed Rhydian a large bottle of ilïmbalm. “That should be more than enough. If you want to take a quick swig for yourself, I won’t tell,” he said with a wink.

  Rhydian smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’ve said it before, son,” the General went on, “I’d love to have you with us on our next rotation. We could use every good soldier we can get in this fight, and if you’re anything like your father, we could use you more than most.”

  It filled Rhydian with the deepest pride to be compared with his father. At the same time, however, it made him feel completely inadequate. He could never fill the shoes of such a legend, though most people expected him to.

  Seeing that he had struck a sore spot with Rhydian, Corvus put a strong arm around his shoulders and said, “He was a great man. I’m proud to have served with him.” Then, releasing his grip, he continued, “You will consider it, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” he replied, though he had no intention to.

  “Now, you’ll have to excuse me,” Corvus said. “I have to brief the Regional Judges on our defense strategy in two hours and I need to prepare. Let’s have dinner soon, though.”

  “That’d be great,” Rhydian said with a smile.

  He had always admired General Corvus. Growing up he looked to him as a role model, hearing the stories of him and his father fighting side-by-side against the savagery of the ground-dwellers. His childhood dreams were full of adventure and excitement.

  He said goodbye and leaped from the balcony. Circling the compound, he eyed the masses of armored soldiers below, searching for the distinctive flash of black and white wings. Finally, he spotted them.

  He tucked his wings and dove for the plateau, where a pair of soldiers, lightly armored, was sparri ng with blunted practice swords. One of them, the one with the black and white wings, seemed be at a disadvantage. His right forearm had a dark bruise across it and he was continually getting beaten by his opponent. Rhydian caught a breeze and hovered in place a short distance above the scene.

  “Hey, Auram,” Rhydian called down, “you’re supposed to stick your sword in him, not the other way around.”

  Auram looked up and laughed. So did several spectators.

  “Maybe you should give it a try then,” Auram joked, pointing his sword up at his friend, “if it’s so easy.”

  “Can I?” he replied excitedly and sailed down to land gently beside him.

  Auram rolled his eyes and teased, “Only if you want to get beaten.”

  Auram’s opponent graciously handed Rhydian his weapon. Rhydian waved it around a bit, testing its weight and balance. It was a bit blade heavy, he noticed. He’d have to rely more on cuts than thrusts. Swordplay had been a strong focus of his schooling as a child, given his military pedigree.

  Rhydian and Auram squared off, Rhydian with a high guard, his sword hilt by his head and the point toward his opponent, and Auram with the point of his sword straight out in front of him, arms extended. They both smiled. This was exactly the kind of game they had played from the time they were little. They’d both dreamed of having exciting adventures and conquering mighty foes. Currently though, Auram was the only one doing anything to make that a reality; a point he spared no opportunity to remind his friend of.

  In one swift motion, Rhydian swung his sword over his head while lunging at his friend. Auram crossed his arms and deflected the attack, then uncrossed them to spin his blade in a exchanged blows back and forth for several minutes, all the while spectators cheering or shouting advice. Finally, Rhydian fainted high, and when Auram raised his sword to parry, he switched directions, slicing up into the underside of Auram’s arms and then stabbed downward into his abdomen.

  Auram recoiled back, a smile on his face. “All right, you win this one,” he panted. The two came together and embraced for a moment.

  “Thought I’d come see how you were doing with your training. Apparently not well,” Rhydian teased.

  “Yeah, joke all you want,” Auram retorted, “but I’m gonna’ be the one down there slaying grounders left and right in a couple months.”

  “Yeah, well, make sure you kill a few for me, then.”

  “You should join, brother,” he pleaded. “It’s what we always talked about!” He ran his fingers back through his thick, wavy, blonde hair.

  Rhydian was always secretly a little jealous of his friend’s good looks and charisma. Of the two of them, Auram had attracted most of the female attention growing up.

  “I’ve got a lot going on right now,” Rhydian said. It was his standard excuse. He then lowered his voice to a whisper. “But listen, I’ve got something I want to tell you about.”

  Intrigued, Auram walked with Rhydian out of earshot of anyone else. Once they were sure no one could overhear, Rhydian told him all about his discovery of the threshold in the cave; how it seemed unused and unguarded.

  “There was no one there at all?” he inquired, skeptically.

  “That’s not even the best part!” he went on. “There’s ilïmbalm. Good stuff! I’m talking, grade ten!”

  At this, Auram’s face contorted in an expression of disbelief. Rhydian understood his reaction. Auram’s family owned a very successful ilïmbalm business. It was a cause of great contention when he decided to leave the family tradition to chase his dream of adventure, so much so that they disinherited him from the family fortune.

  “No way,” he replied. “I mean, I grew up in a refinery and even I’ve only seen, maybe, three bottles of ten-grade! And that’s been expertly concentrated. You don’t just scoo
p it out of a river.”

  “I’m telling you, this stuff was rich! I took just one sip and I felt like I could fly around the world!” he argued. “Come and see for yourself.”

  “What, today?”

  Rhydian thought for a moment. “Ferro always dismisses me early at the end of the week. I’m sure we could go now. I’ll just have to drop off Corvus’s payment.”

  Auram shook his head at the mention of the General. “I can’t believe you’re still rubbing wings with that guy. I mean he’s like, everyone’s boss!”

  “Not mine,” Rhydian retorted. “So what do you say, are we going, or is it against your strict, military regulations to break the rules now and then.”

  Rhydian knew this tactic would work. Auram had always seen himself as a bit of a rebel.

  “Fine,” he replied, “I’m off duty in a few minutes. I’ll just turn in my equipment and we’ll go.”

  Rhydian excitedly led the way down the canyon toward his new discovery. He only hoped the gateway was still there and hadn’t been some random anomaly.

  “How far is this place?” Auram complained after they’d flown for nearly an hour.

  While his friend had long, broad wings for soaring, Auram’s were shorter and swept to points, which required a lot more laborious flapping and caused him to tire more quickly. They did, however, allow him much swifter flight and agility. Rhydian had given up racing him at an early age when he realized he just couldn’t keep pace with him. But Auram was simply not built for distance.

  “We’re almost there,” Rhydian reassured, not really knowing for certain. He searched the cliffside for the telltale rock landing at the mouth of the cave but couldn’t remember exactly what it looked like. Just when he was starting to think they must have passed it, he spotted the opening. “There!” he exclaimed, and dove for the opening. He landed so excitedly that he almost wrecked his wings on the side walls of the cave.