Ascension of the Whyte

by Karen Wrighton

himself looking into four sets of slanted, piercingly cold ebony eyes.

  The casts were referred to in a way that reflects their hair colour as it is the feature that most distinguished one cast from another. The Bloods, for example, had a mass of unruly scarlet hair. This, when combined with their slanted black eyes, blue-grey tinged skin and purple hued lips, made them the most striking of all the casts of the Afterlands.

  As Baroque welcomed the Hydrargyrum Blood ascendants, Marcus prepared to receive the Muds. He laid out their rich green, woven tunics and their bearskin belts and boots. Then, pushing down the golden lever, he raised them to their feet.  The Ferrum Muds were a formidable cast with strong muscular bodies, caramel skin, chestnut-brown hair and eyes as green and luminous as the rarest emeralds. The final four bells rang out over the city. The ascension dawn was complete.

  The ascendants dressed, their strength growing rapidly though their vacant, trance-like state remained. When Baroque judged that they had recovered enough, he and Marcus helped them from their cubicula.

  Although they appeared extremely curious about their fellow ascendants, they were slow to converse with each other. Remaining dazed and confused, they huddled together in the centre of the chamber, watching each other warily, like a group of lost children.

  Baroque mounted the basilica’s central plinth; a simple circular stone carved with the three fyre hawks of Aurum. He spoke with a natural air of authority; his tone measured, soft and welcoming. 

  “Ascended children of the Afterlands,” his deep voice echoed around the domed basilica, “I hope you are feeling a little stronger now. I understand that, quite reasonably, you are impatient for some answers to your questions. Therefore, without further delay, we will relocate to the Atrium. If you will follow….” 

  Interrupted by a loud hiss from the fourth quarter cubicula, Baroque swung his head around with a start. The four Rhodium cubicula began to fill with vapour.

  “No!” he turned to Marcus.

  The shocked expression on Marcus’s face confirmed his fears.

  “Go… quickly!” said Baroque “Bring the Prima Magister!”

  Marcus hesitated, watching stunned and open-mouthed as the Rhodium cubicula rapidly filled with thickly scented ascension vapour.

  “Now,” Baroque shouted, “get Lord Dux!”

  Marcus stumbled briefly on the central plinth as he ran from the basilica. The curious eyes of twelve young ascendants fell on Baroque and then followed his gaze to the four vapour filled cubicula.

  Most of the ascendants, bemused and uneasy, remained huddled together in the centre of the chamber. Baroque endeavoured to pull his attention away from the Rhodium cubicula.

  “You need not be concerned,” he said, in an effort to settle them. "I am sure that it’s nothing to worry about just, very, unusual….” 

  The ascension bell tolled for a fourth time, an event that had not occurred for over a thousand years. Baroque could contain himself no longer. He ran over to the Rhodium quarter and fell to his knees at the foot of the fourth Rhodium cubicula. If a Rhodium Whyte is about to ascend, then it can mean only one thing. A chill spread through his body as if an icy hand had closed tightly around his heart. His mind raced. Some sort of error perhaps, a double wisping of one of the other casts? He searched for some other explanation, but he knew, deep down, this was no error. Then, with a sudden insight, he rose to his feet and ran to each of the cubicula in turn, filling his lungs, inhaling the scent of the vapour from each of them. At first, he was reassured as the aroma of pine wood, sulphur, honey flower permeated his senses, but at the prime cubicula, there was something else. His breath caught in his throat. Emanating from the Rhodium prime cubicula was the unmistakable sweet and intoxicating fragrance of the snow rose.

  The ascension scriptures were clear; the fragrance of the snow rose signalled the ascension of a Whyte. Baroque shook his head in disbelief, then, oblivious to the anxious stares of the young ascendants, he buried it in his hands, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips.

  “This is not possible,” he said, looking through his fingers at the pale form now materialising in the cubicula before him.

  There had been no Whyte ascendants for over a thousand years, since the end of the Dragon War and now, unbelievably, a Whyte was ascending once more. Baroque’s eyes spread wide as he realised the implications of this. Steeling himself, he drew in a long breath. He had been preparing for this day for over thirty years and yet it was a day that he believed he would never see. His duty was clear; he had to get the word south, immediately.

  Marcus returned, accompanied by the five members of High Council, including Prima Magister Bertram Dux, who strode into the basilica with the self-assurance and poise of a deity.

  Dux was a tall, slim man, his shaven head encased within a white and gold magisterial skullcap, a golden fyre hawk emblem embroidered at its centre.  The Councillors’ arrival provoked a general commotion when, upon seeing the rapidly filling Rhodium cubicula, they promptly shot a stream of questions at the Senior Custos. The twelve young ascendants, unsettled by the Councillors’ confusion and alarm, backed away to the wall of the chamber.

  Baroque lifted his hands in exasperation.

  “I am afraid that I have few answers for you,” he said. “Except that I believe that we are about to witness something astounding, something we have not experienced in more than a thousand years.” He paused, amazed at the words he was about to utter, “we are about to bear witness to the ascension of a Whyte.”  

  Dux’s body stiffened. A shocked silence followed. Dux bent close to Baroque, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Are you saying that the prophecy of Eldwyn the Whyte is about to be realised?” 

  Baroque shook his head incredulously. “It appears so my Lord.”

  Dux frowned “but we have received no indication of any conflict within the Land of Ferrum. Could this not be an artefact, a fault in the ascension process?”

  “I fear not my lord,” said Baroque motioning toward the Rhodium cubicula. “The first part of the prophecy has been fulfilled; for is this, not a Whyte ascending in the female frame?"

  The ascent was almost complete; through the glass and remaining vapour, they could see a female human face; a girl’s translucent, alabaster skin framed by a mass of shining silver white hair.  As they watched, her eyelids flickered open to reveal a pair of striking violet-blue eyes.