“Yes Maiden. I was once young such as you and mated with the Mystic Wind. It was before you were even born. Many a battles against darkness did I employ its magic and strength. I can also feel Hydrosin and Helixx with the masters the blades have selected to serve.
Alas, the Wind Saber is no longer in my grasp. I was bewitched by the Two Sorceresses of the Mist. I imagine the enchanted sword is still with them; hidden for all time as neither can touch the blade unless the Wind will allows it.
Does your sister still possess the Fire Sword, or is Pyrestorm lost as well?”
“No, it is still in her grasp, but she has turned from the light and serves evil now.” Amari says, not looking at the old man.
He pats Amari’s hand. “My heart feels your pain Maiden.”
She places her other hand on his and says. “She has chosen the path which separates us; we are sisters only in kin of the same parents.
I may have lost my earthly sight young Maiden, but I still can see into the mist. Your kin possesses that which you seek. However, to take it from her grasp, she must die.
Lanz is silent for a time before speaking again. “If the Pentadiene is joined together, nothing of this realm can defeat their combined powers.”
“It is true as you say friend to Mimna. “We seek to gather the Kcaj to be joined again, as it were, in the olden days. Because evil and darkness roam the land, it is our quest to rid Aventine of this shade.”
“It is a noble journey witch, but it will drain your numbers before you see its end. For some you call sword brothers and sisters, and others you will meet in your journey; will not be at your side in the coming days.”
The old man sniffs at the air. “My nose is keen as well. I smell the earthly scent of a dwarf.”
“Indeed you do,” says Truk. “I am Truk from the Dwarf Clan beyond the lands of Aventine. I serve the Maiden both now and decades past.”
Amari gazes at her companions with sadness. In her mind, she knows what Lanz is saying is true. Which ones sitting there with her will die in battle, and which will live to see the end of darkness—she is not sure?
Mimna moves closer and grasps Lanz’s shoulder. “Come and sit and tell my friends what you told me many years ago when I was a young and foolish girl. It was the tale of the Mystic Wind.
If it pleases you Lanz, I know my way about your lodging enough to make spice tea.”
“Thank you Mimna. In the cupboard near the fire, I made some mint bread that will go well with the hot tea. Sugar Blossom jam is there too.”
A rumbling comes from behind, as Gareth’s stomach is talking again. Those who have traveled and call the big man friend, smile knowingly.
They gather and sit on large flat stones around a smoldering fire. Lanz acting if he did have eyes to see, pokes at the coals with a stick until the embers ignite the small pieces of wood he threw upon it.
He reaches to his side and grabs a short log, thick as a man’s thigh from a pile. Deftly he tosses it on the growing fire. The aged man tilts his head to each one of us. “So you want to hear the tale of the Mystic Wind?”
“We all know of its existence ancient one,” Natsha answers. “Tell us if you please venerable one. Where is the blade we seek to be found?”
Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It lies on the Golden River that flows under the Lands of Aventine. Upon a spit of dry land in the middle of the river stands a stone temple; guarded by a beast. I cannot describe the hideous monster. I only know it is a servant of the two witches, who took the blade from me long ago.
I was a fool as the witches caused me to go into a deep sleep that lasted a full moon. When I awoke, the evil crones were gone. With them, the Mystic Wind.
They are mindless necromancers to think they could control the power of the sword. The Wind Sword only obeys the one it has chosen. It left me because I was not strong enough to resist the bewitching of those two crones.
I have seen it in visions and heard it calling me when the wind is on the rise. Alas, I have neither the strength nor sight to travel from where I know. I would be an easy prey for those wanting my flesh.”
Mimna returns with a steaming kettle of tea and a tray loaded down with clay cups and sweet-smelling cakes. As she sets the tray next to the fire, she asks. “I remember your telling of this Golden River—but where is it to be found? How does one get to its source under the earth?”
The old one smiles as he grabs a cake and jams the whole of it into his mouth; crumbs tumble down his barrel chest. While chewing he answers. “You must have the Greek Amulet. That is the only compass that can point out the entrance hidden from all men.”
“And where might we find this amulet. Amari asks?”
“Finding the talisman is far easier than making it work for you. It is enchanted hence it will be the devil’s own time to discover its proper sound key.”
“Sound Key?” Dian asks. “Does that mean one must talk to it?”
“Not talk my young maid, but ply music. This compass is one of the ancient Greek magical amulets. It will respond to a certain series of tones and musical notes. Those notes are like words, which can come from a flute. Not any flute that you happen upon, but the only one created of the same silver and time the amulet was cast; an Elude Flute.”
Amari smiles at the old man. “You have laid another riddle on us to solve. Does the key to the workings of the Greek Amulet to be found in this realm?”
He gestures to behind them. “In that direction and not far is an ancient castle—long since reduced to ruins. It is choked with greenery and nearly invisible unless one is standing on its sunken foundations. A single tower still exists, but is not the spire you seek, but what lies somewhere below.”
Amari waves her hand, as if to dismiss the rambling of Lanz. “You speak of riddles to us old one. You say there is still one puzzle that must be unraveled first before the next one is revealed. It concerns the location of the silver flute.
Without the key, the compass cannot be made to work. Hence, the Mystic Wind will be forever hidden.”
He leans into the circle of warriors. “Harken and lend an ear to the riddle as was told to me many years ago. Use this to find the entrance to where the Wind Sword lies.”
“Moon neither wax nor wane…comes the darkness one must face, but not see. Stand and count the hours three for the key to gain. Come to the center of the circle where fairies dance. Eye the dead glass and look to its shadow cast…be quick as only one chance is given.”
Truk leans toward the Maiden and whispers in her ear. "These couplets seem to roll off his tongue as he has repeated them many times. We may not be the first to hear what he says. Others in the past may have been questing for the Wind Sword?”
Amari and the others look at each other.
Natsha speaks first. “Old one, have you deciphered what the enigma is saying?”
“Yes child, two lines have I worked to its end, but I cannot reveal what it means. The Gods have ordained it is the one who seeks the amulet, who will decipher its meaning. There is magic afoot there. If I were to tell you even a fraction of its answer, then the spell would be broken, and the Greek Amulet would remain hidden to the end of times—and so the Mystic Wind as well.”
Natsha speaks. “With my vast knowledge of the ancient scrolls and manuscripts, I already solved at least a third of the riddle; the rest is unknown, and I would be guessing its meaning.”
Amari bows her head to the old man. “Ancient one, I know of the spell you speak which surrounds a magic amulet or pendant. We will respect what you have told us and find the answers to the riddle on our own.”
“If providence walks your path than you will find what you seek; deduce the meaning you will. It will reveal the place where an entrance to an ancient hidden chamber under the earth. In that cavity lies the flute sealed in glass. One must ponder on how to break the glass without damaging the instrument. Be warned, there is many a trap to snare the seekers of that magical instrument.
Gai
ning the flute will also secure the Greek Amulet as they lie together. Once you have the compass, the way to the Golden River will lay before you. The path you are on will be more dangerous than what lies behind you. Tread carefully Maiden and those who claim a sword oath with you.” He says looking at each one with unseeing eyes.
The band of warriors stand and bow to Lanz: each thanks the old man for his hospitality and the story of the Mystic Sword.
“We must be on our way. I expect we will need to battle those who wait below.” Amari says.
“I may have another way for you sister. How do you feel about flying?” Mimna asks.
Chapter 15 – A Leaf on the Wind
“How does one fly, except upon the back of a trained dragon, and they were all destroyed for their skin and teeth?” Gareth asks while picking his way among the brambles lining the crooked path.
Mimna smiles and her eyes crinkle with anticipation. “The winged lizards are not the only means to soar above the ground. Come, we must climb to the top of this very mountain. There is a flat plateau and what I am saying will be revealed.”
The others ponder Mimna’s words as the path ends, and they come to a series of wide stone steps. The broad stairs allow the men and women to climb two abreast. The steps chiseled out of the rock, ascends to the top—almost out of sight into the thin clouds above.
It is a slow, but steady progress of going from one step to the next. Only Truk seems to be feeling the strain of the climb. With Gareth’s strong arm for support, the dwarf does not falter.
The sun is setting on the horizon when the weary group finally reaches the top. By now, everyone is breathing harder, not only from the exertion of the climb, but also as the air is thinner the further up the warriors travel.
As the warriors look above them, they can see the reflective glow of several fire’s bathing the plateau with light. They are almost near its summit. Guards are positioned at the last set of steps—spears at the ready. The sentries move aside when they see Mimna. One of them steps forward. “Welcome Mimna, daughter of Ataltalean, sister and friend.”
Mimna places her hands upon the soldier’s shoulders. He does the same to her. “Thank you Apikala. I bring Amari the Maiden. These others are Natsha, Gareth, Holl-tu, Dian and Truk. Know that they are my shield brothers and sisters.”
“Welcome friends of Mimna. Come sit. You must need rest as the climb is long and tiresome.”
He leads them to an alcove with stone benches carved into the rock. A crackling fire is burning just outside of the niche, providing warmth and light. A low table holds flasks of water and bowls of fruit and breads.
While they sit, it gives them a chance to survey their surroundings. They are indeed on the very top of this mountain. Except for the small rise of rock that houses the alcove, it is flat and goes no higher. On the ground to one side are a dozen or more bundles of long poles with cloth wrapped about them. Strong looking rope secures the bale from the wind as it constantly tugs at the corners of the material.
The remnant of a wooden mechanism is off to the side near the edge. Time and elements have reduced it to broken pieces of bleached wood with only the barest of an outline to say what it used to be. The frayed end of a twisted rope swings in the wind.
The framework reminds Gareth of a giant bow. “Mimna, what is that which time has claimed?” He points to the pile of wood.
“That my friend is one of the last dragon catapults. It would send a spear the breath of a man’s leg and the length of two tall men, if one stood upon the other. The harpoon would pierce the belly of a dragon. Remember the telling of what my ancestors said when the Blood Druids rode upon the backs of dragons and attempted to invade these mountains.
With a skilled eye, the archer who operated this giant crossbow brought down many a dragon. The Druids and spearmen that rode upon the beast’s backs tumbled to their deaths on the rocks below. We keep it here to remind us to be ever vigilant. Even this high above the clouds…the shade was able to penetrate.
Beneath that very weapon, the archer and those who manned it are buried. Only old age claimed them at the end, not battle. The catapult was built by the archer’s hand. With it, he slew many of the great flying beasts. It is now his and the other’s tombstone.
Many a mother has named their sons with his name. He was called Ractor; Ractor the Archer.” There were dozens of these devices scattered throughout Skye—this one is all that remains from those glorious days.
“A worthy tale Mimna,” says Gareth, “But I am intrigued by the poles and canvas lying upon the ground. Are they shelters against bad weather?”
“Not exactly my friend. Those are your means to enter the lands of Aventine far from the enemy who waits below! Before first light, the men will assemble the devices and we will be on our way.”
Amari walks over to inspect one of the bundles. As she bends over and rubs her hand over the smooth wood protruding from under the cloth, she says. “Is this what you meant about flying? It is a kite is it not?”
“Yes sister, but not in the sense of a kite a child would use that needs a long cord to stay aloft. These will easily hold two people in a canvas basket under the belly. Once unfolded, and assembled, it will carry you down to the lands below and far from here. Those who wait to attack you will not know you have left these peaks.”
“You give us too much credit sister. I have never flown one of these, and I doubt the others have as well,” as she sees her companions shaking their collective heads.”
Mimna spreads her arms like a bird. “My people used these flying machines in order to get to the lowlands and spy. These devices are hidden until the men who flew them return here. Flying down from the peaks is easy; lugging these flyers back to the top is laborious. We cannot leave them where they could be found by the lowlanders, or the cursed Druids.
It is quite simple; we merely point our winged craft in the direction we wish to go. The cloth stretched over the wooden framework catches and holds the wind. One can turn from side to side and control the movement of a rudder with the aid of ropes tied to the basket. It is as if a ship at sea gliding over the water. The construction assures it will drift safely to the ground.
It has been decades since any Black Angel has perished in one of these. The craft of perfecting a safe flight to earth has evolved to a skill.”
Gareth is starting to reminisce of his olden days aboard a ship on the high seas and the dangers it brought. “That’s reassuring!”
Mimna spreads her hands at the table before them. “Eat and take your rest my friends. We leave before the rising of the sun. Our timing will be such, we will land with just enough early-morning daylight to see and not be seen.”
“Mimna, you keep saying we. Are you coming as well?”
“Yes Amari if you will have me. I fought at your side those many years ago, and I intend to raise my metal with yours once again. We are safe in our cities from the goings on with the downlanders, but if the shade is allowed to spread unchecked, then nowhere will be safe. I fight for my people as well. My father and I have already said our goodbyes. He would rather I stay here with him and our people; but he knows my heart lies with you.”
All Amari can do is hold Mimna in a close embrace. “I missed you my sister. I welcome your friendship and the sharpness of your blade once again.”
While the women were talking, Truk, Holl-tu and Dian go to the edge of the plateau and look down into the coming darkness. “Little miss,” says Truk to Dian. “I am not sure about throwing myself off this mountain and trust a contraption that I have never seen before.”
Dian takes a step back from the edge of the plateau with a sudden case of dizzies. “Mimna seems to be sure of her words that this device has been proven many times over. We too should trust in this way off the mountain.”
Amari stands beside them. “My friends, although I have never heard of such a mechanism for humans to fly, I am sure our Mimna would not put us in any undo peril. I think it would be far better
to soar over danger than confront an unknown if we leave this place by the way we came.”
The old dwarf and Dian nod at Amari and with Holl-tu join the others who have stretched out on pallets to sleep. Gareth with a full belly is already disturbing the silence with his snores.
Apikala puts a handful of dried timber on the fire to keep the night chill away from those who sleep. He himself does not lie down, but sits and listens to the warriors talk to each other before dropping off into a weary sleep.
It is but a few hours later that several men from the city below crest the plateau stairs. Apikala goes to them and directs the setting up of the human kites.
Amari awakes at the arrival of the other men. She sits up and pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her attention is now on the men going about their tasks.
The first kite takes shape quickly. Three poles are placed on the ground parallel to each other; the three ends joined with stout rope. The untied ends are spread open like fingers on a hand. A cross bar is set half-way down the length of the outer poles and secured with braided rope lacing and knots; making the structure rigid. Next comes a woven basket that will hold at least two occupants. It is lashed to all three poles. The frame sits on the basket waiting for the next step.
The cloth, appearing to be a lightweight canvas is stretched over the top of the frame. Pre-cut holes in the material run along its edges. The whole of it is secured to the wooden frame by heavy rawhide. A small flap of material with a miniature frame of light wood is added to the rear of the flying machines. Attached to the small piece are two ropes strung along the underside and tied to the basket for steering.
Once airborne, a pull on one rope and the soaring craft, would go left; pull the other and it would go right. The cord is knotted at several places to stop any panic pulls. Hence, the turn will be gradual. The one pulling upon the cords to steer this giant man-made bird needs to give themselves plenty of time when avoiding anything, or picking a place to land. Done correctly, the craft will glide slowly to the ground.
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