Olwyn wouldn’t dare take her child to the Lunaega Province. As grateful as she was to be alive, she knew time was not on her side. She lost a lot of blood from the birth. Her breath was raspy. Her body trembled. The sound of her racing heartbeat trounced her eardrums. She had no food, no shelter, nor the means to properly protect herself.
She spent a great deal of her mana, the natural sustenance in which all equipoise is derived, healing herself well enough to flee Drudgekreath. Now her mana was dangerously low. She needed to act fast, and so whether it was the result of fate or the result of logic, she slipped off the well-trodden path and into the thickly wooded fields of the southern Steppe.
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IT WAS THE END of Sunscrest, the second month of summer, and so the wind ferried a scent of citrus and lavender glazed with the morning’s dew. The earth was soft and virgin. It invited each tread upon it with great warmth and earnestness of feeling.
Billowing clouds worshiped the milky-silver glow of the full moon, setting themselves apart from the stars. Neighboring planets glowed bright along with other galactic constellations in the sky. They painted the landscape with the faint glow of aurora. The symphonic rhythm of the crickets and frogs created a harmony that was accompanied by the occasional encouragement of an owl or the inspiration of a wolf.
The air was sweet like honeysuckle and heavy on the breath. Every once and a while a slightly metallic, industrial scent accompanied by a copper taste wafted on the breeze. It disrupted the wilderness like an intruder to a family feast.
Something unseen and unfamiliar slowly transformed the state of the Caliphian Steppe as it made its unnatural presence known. Nature’s harmony became unnerved. It began to speed up selfishly, progressively out of sync with itself as the urgency increased.
New instruments erupted in volume and drove the harmony into a violent, primal orchestra of fear. Birds awakened from slumber before their natural rise. Flocks of them alerted each other over vast distances. They warned others to flee, to head to the mountains. Herds of bison and wild horses stampeded in all directions. The orchestra rapidly degenerated into a frenzy.
There are certain predators that never allow a crisis to go to waste. Cerlyn Wolves were among them. The aureolin glow from their eyes kindled the air. Their husky black fur shook with each muscular stride as they prowled towards their unsuspecting victims. From the rugged terrain of the northeast, prides of saber-toothed lions tracked innocent families of the animal kingdom as they innocently fled their homes. As the predators herded their prey appropriately, the unfathomable wickedness of nature reared its ugly head.
The free meals did not last long however. Even the predators were afraid of something, a power so organized, so subtle, so interlocked, and so complete that its very presence pervaded the land long before it was seen to arrive. The orchestra of fear eventually passed away and life deserted the terrain.
Only the abandoned, tilled acreage of the grassland and its immovable surroundings remained. Stillness took center stage of the Caliphian Steppe. Even the wind stopped. It was a silence born but once a lifetime.
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A STEADY MARCH OF thousands of boots crept from the east with the first signs of light. Legions of silver-purple eyes glowed at the head of the silhouette army. The girth of the massive black mass that marched behind them was daunting. It took every warrior in Caliphweald to create it. The army resembled a giant serpent with thousands of glowing eyes as it slithered over the terrain. They were the eyes of shadowlight, the gaze of the Shadekin.
The Shadekin were mesmers, masters of Illusion Magic. Long ago, before Woden Caliph used the power of The Trivium to ascend to deity, nay, before he even found The Trivium, he promised the men and women that accompanied him to the ends of the earth that he would deliver a new reality to them.
After he found The Trivium, Woden granted new skill sets to his companions in exchange for their eternal allegiance by binding their blood to the aether of the sky. The ritual transformed them into elementalists that were able to harness and manipulate the electromagnetic energy fields of nature. This building block of life subsequently empowered the elementalists to manipulate the very fabric of reality. Using their sky magic, called Nulofaer in their native tongue, they summoned the storms, conjured the lightning, and beckoned the wind. They slipped between dimensions, created complex illusions, and perhaps most dangerously, they found a way to travel to the Shade, a twilight realm that exists between the material world and the spiritual one.
Those who were awake said that some of the Shadekin learned to manipulate the flow of time, in which frequencies could be played on unique instruments that harnessed this ability. They often endured stones being cast at them and their character being assassinated by those whose minds were asleep. Many went to their deaths professing they had seen it done while their peers dismissed them as madmen.
As time passed, the carefully constructed illusions of the Shadekin lulled the population into a hypnotic state. They spun the world to the rhythm of their music. The further Caliphian society drifted from the truth, the more it shunned those who spoke it.
Not all of the Shadekin went along with the unnatural spellbind, this order of the ages that imprisoned humanity. Some of them were crucified upside-down and burned at the stake for protesting it. A message was sent to those that dared to yield the secrets of The Trivium. One had better not speak above his breath when proclaiming its effects on society.
There were Shadekin who feared the consequences of their actions and disappeared forever, leaving nothing behind but the curiosity of where they went. Some folks revered these Shadekin as heroes who travelled back in time to change what they had done. Other people despised these Shadekin as cowards who could not face the reality of their own creating.
It is said that the entire world is a stage and every person is merely an actor playing his part in the grand performance of life. Since those who control the present control the past, and those who control the past control the future, there is not one shred of doubt in Caliphweald as to who runs the show.
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AT THE OPPOSITE END of the Steppe, the aroma of foreign spice and earthiness drifted with the breeze, swirling with the scent of vanilla and clove. A legion of figures swiftly crept out from the valley towards the break of day. Their silhouettes coasted over the arid terrain. They displayed a sexually attractive dexterity. Though the figures were young, they were suitable for midnight deeds by virtue of their maturity.
Beneath the veils of their elegantly shrouded bodies, the Oussaneans had bronze skin. Their fiery hair and feline irises ignited with enthralling sensuality. The Oussaneans habituated that it was not enough to merely conquer a people. They must seduce them.
The Caliphians had a lust for these women, an addiction even. The Oussaneans would hardly succeed at the art of seduction were they not masked by some sort of honor. If one had experienced the dilemma between stealing the life of his soul mate and refusing to do so at the consequence of his own death, he may know the feeling of fighting against these women.
The Oussaneans swept over the terrain. Their glaives and scimitars swayed gracefully like willows in the wind. Every tangible piece of their armor and weapons bore the inscription of the moon, the symbol of the Lunaega Province.
As the legion made their way east, an ominous gallop grew louder and louder until it matched the sound of thunder breaking the sky. A warhorse, blacker than oblivion, more powerful than a herd, tilled the soil as each hoof cut through the earth. The monstrous steed was clad in dark obsidian armor. Its ruby red eyes burned like embers from a diabolical fire. However, it was not the horse that was frightening. It was the rider of that demonic steed and what followed him that struck terror into the hearts of men.
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OLWYN ENTERED THE EIDOLON Woods. Everything about the forest was different from the rest of Caliphweald. If
one were to remain still, the live organisms that floated upon the aether glowed and banded together into beautiful golden formations. The moment anything moved, the particles dispersed into bursts of light.
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WHEN WODEN CALIPH WAS a god, he discovered the Shade by using the power of The Trivium to access its portals. He brought back a type of seed and strategically planted it in the southeast forest of Caliphweald. From it grew what Woden named The Great Faelen Tree. To Shadean beings, a faelen tree was neither great nor unique. Prior to Woden, faelen trees only grew in the Shade, and Caliphians had no knowledge of them, or the injurious effects it would have on their bodies. But they learned soon enough that those who ventured into Woden’s forest unprepared became lost forever. Death was more preferred than suffering such a fate.
As a deity, much of the equipoise Woden brought to Caliphweald was learned during his time spent in the Shade. But equipoise was not the only thing that Woden brought back with him. As unnatural as the faelen seeds were, they were of no concern when compared to the ancient things that crept from the swards of darkness and followed Woden out of the Shade.
The Great Faelen Tree converted the Eidolon Woods into a magical barrier that protected Caliphweald from the outside world. There was an immense fear of the impact that life from the Shade would have on Caliphweald’s ecosystem, and what would happen to the physical world because of this.
The Great Faelen Tree eventually summoned beings from its native habitat. They crossed through The Great Barrier into this dimension and once acclimated, they shared their customs and knowledge with the Caliphians. These beings believed they could survive in the physical world so long as they remained under the protection of a faelen tree. Woden named them the Amori, the children made of love.
The Great Faelen Tree absorbed the nature around it. It mimicked life in such a way that it created a sustainable habitat for the Amori as well as for the indigenous organisms of Caliphweald. The Amori protected and tended to the forest’s needs. They built a village close enough to the Steppe so that Caliphians could trade with them without being exposed to the faelen tree’s enchantments for too long.
Amori Village resembled the Shade. Its structures were carved into trees, but in such a way as to keep them alive. Their gardens were masterful, as though crafted by the architects of the universe.
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OLWYN KNEW THE AMORI would protect her. Olwyn’s husband was Shadekin, and though unnaturally related to the Amori through The Trivium, Aithein was nevertheless a distant relative to their kind. She knew they could not resist the innocence of a child. The Amori existed to nurture life. They were highly evolved and driven by empathy. Her son’s greatest chance of survival would be with the beings from the Shade.
Olwyn’s mouth was parched. As she treaded through the forest, every breath brought with it a sting of bitterness, oak, and flowers. Her pace was a stumble, her legs were weary, and her muscles burned with fatigue. Her head throbbed with unnatural heat as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other.
One by one, Olwyn began to lose her senses. Her mouth became so dry that she could barely breathe, let alone taste or smell. Her infinite aches grew such that her brain could no longer register where the pain was coming from. Her entire body throbbed until it became numb. Her vision was bleary. Darkness encircled her focal points until it completely enveloped everything. Once she lost her sight, the panic set in. The claustrophobic feeling of her surroundings caved in on her. The weight was unbearable.
The pressure built up until Olwyn felt death embrace her. In an instant, the panic dispersed into a weightless, painless feeling. A ringing sound penetrated her eardrums like a needle. It grew so loud, yet subtle, that she felt it would crush her like an egg inside of a closed fist. All of the sudden the ringing ceased. In its place, a trickling sound allured her perception.
The clean scent of water filtered the pollen away. She knelt down and felt her surroundings. Her fingers foraged through vines and shrubbery. They sifted through earth and gravel. Finally, they touched blades of grass. She rested Aithein in a soft patch of it.
With her hands free, Olwyn crawled towards the sound of water. Smooth, damp stones filled her palms as the weight of her body pressed upon them. She knew she was close. In a desperate effort, she exerted her last bit of energy in a sprawl of faith to reach her target.
She landed on her stomach. The side of her face smacked into the wet sand, a pain most beautiful. The woods gifted her a stream. She propped herself up. The cold water soaked her garments heavy and refreshed her feverish skin. She drank from the crystalline river. It was the most refreshed she had ever felt. Her body stabilized itself and her senses returned. She looked down at her dirty hands and felt the sediment on her face. She began to rinse the sand off of them.
A territorial growl came from behind her. She recognized the all too familiar sound from the sojourns that she and her husband took to the forest. Nothing could be worse.
Olwyn slowly turned around to face the drooped lip of an Eidolon Bear as it sniffed out her intention. Her heart sank while she looked at Aithein lying in the grass on the other side of it. She hoped with all her willpower that the baby would remain silent.
Olwyn slowly extended her right arm and dabbed her fingers beneath the surface of the water. She stared the bear down and quietly drew a deep breath. Her focus retreated to the center of her mind. She thought of jagged glaciers, of contraction, formation, and crystallization. The tips of her fingers stung with an arctic bite until they grew numb. The moment her fingers lost feeling, they grew hot. The spell was charged.
The water particles excited around her right hand. Tiny crystals of ice formed around her fingers. They broke away and floated downstream. She slowly raised her left hand towards the bear. Ice magic flowed from the stream and rushed through her veins. It filled her heart. Her eyes grew midnight blue and unforgiving. The icy sensation shot through her left arm and manifested in her palm. A sphere of blue-white energy seethed with steam as the magic irritated the summer air.
Olwyn thought of the fjords, of her parents, of the conditions in Drudgekreath. She thought of her poverty and her involuntary servitude, of having to keep her marriage a secret because of a racist Caliphian society. A most disturbing rage silently built up inside the center of her mind. It consumed her. It was the kind of ferocity known only by those who realize they were born into a prison and never had a chance at real freedom, that the world was so wrong that the only thing left to be done was to destroy it.
As the sphere extracted the electromagnetic energy from the surrounding air, Aithein let out a cry for his mother. The bear was startled. It whirled around and stared at the baby. Olwyn gritted her teeth. She feared that if she used the spell in that moment that it would knock the bear on top of her son. The bear carefully approached Aithein and sniffed him over.
Olwyn let out a scream of agony. “Don’t you dare!”
The bear spun around. Its hind leg jostled the baby and narrowly missed crushing him. The bear sprang up, roared at Olwyn and lunged. As it swooped down upon her, she cast the spell.
A massive blast of ice soared through the air. It seared into the bear and tore through its flesh like an arrowhead through wet parchment. As the spear of ice exited the wound, it spewed chunks of sinews, blood, organs, and bone.
The bear fell towards Olwyn. She managed to dodge the majority of its body, but not its claws. Its paw struck her in the side and tore through her flesh. The force knocked her to the ground. The bear slumped over. Olwyn stared into its gaped mouth, its lifeless eyes focused upon her. They demanded that she never forget their encounter. She pressed against the weight of the bear’s massive arm and squirmed out from under it. She feebly crawled to Aithein. The baby was fine.
Olwyn was bleeding. Her adrenaline wore off and a searing burn replaced her temporary relief. She collapsed next to Aithein. Her eyes grew heavy until everything slowl
y turned dark.
A stream of blood trickled from Olwyn’s body into the sandy riverbank. It entered a rivulet and eventually made its way to the brook, joined the rapids, and flowed downriver.
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DAYBREAK’S DIFFERENT HUES OF purple, blue, pink, and orange drove the black night away from the east and back towards the desert. The light of dawn rose from the sea and flooded the landscape. The Oussanean and Caliphian armies now had each other in sight as they marched towards oblivion.
The eastern skies grew dark and turbid around the sun. The cloud cover manifested in a devastatingly unnatural manner and brought with them a darkness of a different kind. The Shadekin chanted in unison as they led the Caliphian army towards its moment of reckoning. Their otherworldly hymn charged the aether around them. It revealed their white hair, the red irises behind their silver-purple glow, the luminous insignias tattooed upon their flesh, and their midnight colored shadow armor. Their white breastplates bore the infamous red symbol of the shadow tribe and their capes flapped like loose sails in the wind.
There were different units in the Caliphian army, based on what weapons they wielded and what function they served, but the majority of them looked the same. They were adorned in hardened leather armor studded with steel and protected by breastplates and pauldrons. Beneath their armor they wore chainmail over mahogany colored gambesons.
Their heads were sheltered by steel barbute helms that were as varied as the individuals wearing them. Some had ferocious demon horns sprouting from the sides of cold steel while others had dragon wings spreading out of them. Steel gauntlets protected their hands. Those closer to the frontlines wielded long swords, hammers, and maces, and wore cuirasses with bevors to protect their necks and tassets to shield their thighs.
One might think that nothing could capture the rising sun, that nothing could close the world’s great eye of light. One ignorant enough to mold his beliefs to the narrow shape of his perspective could never understand the Shadekin. They were created from an idea and they existed as such. As energy obeys natural law, it may never be destroyed. As ideas are energy created from thought, they are bound by this same principle. As long as men think, they create ideas. As long as ideas are created, so too are the lives and illusions of the Shadekin.
The Tale of Onora: The Boy and the Peddler of Death Page 5
