by Bethan Johns
I gripped his hand tightly and sent the images from the backgrounds of my dreams of the artist. The weather, the nature, the creatures, some parts of the people. I did not want him to see that none of the people had faces, as was the nature of prophecy. Should it be a vision, if you do not already know the individual, the face would disappear upon waking.
I was unsure how familiar Sylek was with the laws of prophecy and my gift was not one I was ready to share.
After a few minutes he opened his eyes.
"I have found the plane you seek." He said as he turned away and lit candles around the room with a flick of his fingers.
I waited. "Well?"
"I am deciding whether or not to tell you."
I rolled my eyes. "Why would you not tell me?"
He moved to the wardrobe and opened it, pulling items out and placing them on the bed. I noted now that he was filthy. I hadn't noticed because his clothing was dark among the shadows in the room.
Now, in the light of the flickering candles I could see that there was blood and filth upon his dark brown trousers and deep emerald jacket.
"I have many reasons I would not tell you, and many I would, but the more you speak the longer it will take me to decide. Wait here."
He turned and left the room with the pile of his clothing in his hands.
I scoffed and sat upon the bed again.
What a tedious creature he was. Was this because he was exhausted from a day of battle? Did he truly have a reason I could not travel to some obscure human plane.
I waited impatiently for him to return.
He arrived still wet from bathing, carelessly dripping water onto the stone floor, his hair nearly buzzing with electrum. The white of his shirt showing his scars beneath as it became see-through where it touched against his wet skin.
He held out his hand to me; I stood and took it.
He sent images into my head. The location.
I rifted without so much as a good bye or a thank you. I had tired of him for now.
Arriving on the outskirts of a small village, I could immediately see that this was not a peaceful plane.
It looked as though it was in the middle of a hostile takeover. Massive beings with skin a sickening grey and multitudes of black horns erupting from their heads and shoulders were herding the humans around the plane.
They had them chained by their ankles, whipping them. Killing them in the streets. Some humans were free, trying to sell their wares still along the filthy roadside.
The large oafish creatures could just reach down and swat away their stalls like a bug. They stood nearly the height of the buildings.
The smell of slavery was one not unfamiliar to me. The sounds as well. Screaming and filth. Human waste, blood, and rotting food filled my nostrils.
I shook my head. These humans had not even known about magic, nor that they were not alone in the universe and their plane now had been taken over by these terrifying invaders.
Wanting to start a fight, but knowing it was not my place, I started walking down the road among the creatures and the filthy humans. I wondered if my artist would even still have the freedom to paint or deal their art.
I kept my eyes mostly to the ground as I moved, peeking from the corners to see if anything sparked a flame of recognition from my dream. I was keeping my eyes low, not only to avoid being noticed, but also to avoid having to look at the disturbing scene surrounding me.
The voices I heard were all speaking a dialect of old Garnian that I was once familiar with, the language the Elfin most commonly used. A few human planes I had been to used this language.
I had to keeping telling myself it was not my place to stop this. The universe is as the universe does. The one strange thing was that these creatures did not seem intelligent enough for space travel or interdimensional rifting.
Perhaps they were an army led by a farther advanced species.
A glint of red caught my eye. Bright, vibrant red. Recognition whispered in my ear as I looked up to see the edge of someone's cloak whip around a corner quickly.
Drawing an illusion of invisibility over myself, I followed it.
I could make out little of the creature as I followed it through a few dark alleys and out into the woods that surrounded the town. It wore a bright red cloak that fell to mid-calf and the hood was drawn up.
It was tall and wearing soft brown leather boots. Why it would wear a colour so stark and noticeable as the vibrant red of their cloak, I did not know.
Could this be the intelligence behind the large grey creatures?
I shook myself and continued following into a sunny clearing, a complete switch in atmosphere from the village to here. This place looked homey with a small cottage sitting nestled among the evergreens. Pleasant even.
Breathing in the scent of the forest and letting the wind carry away my senses, I was able to close my eyes and pretend that I had not witnessed what had come before.
When I opened them, the creature was standing before me. It was a female. Her eyes a dark crimson, a similar colour to that of the Howelltie, but unlike theirs, hers did not seem to sift and swim like liquid. They were far more human than that.
Her skin though, was what caught my eyes. A glistening silver, like diamonds, swirls of ruby red sparkling through it.
As soon as I saw that skin, I knew that this was the artist, the painter I had dreamt of. She reached up and pulled back her hood with paint splattered hands to reveal her bald head, her eyes looking ever larger. On closer inspection I could also see that her lashes were crimson.
She looked part Howelltie, but the skin was something I had never seen before. Howelltie could not breed with any other species.
"What do you want?" She spoke in the same language as the others had. It was a lovely language, less guttural, more flowing than common. More eloquent. Common was designed for ease of use for those learning it. Almost every species knew how to speak it.
I shook my head, how was I supposed to explain myself?
"I intend you no ill-will, nor harm." I spoke in Garnian.
"What. Do. You. Want?" She repeated in a harsher tone. It seemed she was not eased by my soothing tone.
"It sounds strange, but I have dreamt of you. Of your paintings. I come to see your work, your art." I struggled with the language a small amount.
She smiled as I stumbled over the words and seemed to think to herself for a moment.
"Come inside and witness then, Stranger."
Turning away, she moved to the cabin and, not bothering to check if I followed, moved inside.
I followed.
Once inside I was, firstly, surprised at how large and bright the space was. She had faelight spread throughout so that there was barely a shadow in sight. The next thing I was blown away by was the art. Stacks and stacks of it. Layers upon layers of parchment and tapestries, books of drawings in charcoal and canvases in thick oily paint.
The art was overwhelming to the senses. I spun. It melded together, I felt her hand on my arm and I looked down to see her fingers spread bright-yellow paint across my leather.
"Did your fingers just leak paint? Why are they wet?" I asked, in common, disoriented.
She chuckled. "Come. Sit." She spoke, also in common, with a thick accent.
She ushered me to a soft leather couch, the cushions creaking.
Returning to her native tongue, she spoke. "The reason the art disorients you is that you are not meant to see it."
Leaning over me she drew her face close to mine. "Breathe," she commanded and blew a whoosh of air into my face. I breathed deeply absorbing her essence.
I had never done such a ritual before. Even in such a casual setting, it felt like it was a ritual going back eons. One that did not belong to one such as I.
When she moved back from me, my vision had already started clearing. Her paintings were as I remembered them, but in person they almost seemed to have a life of their own. Paintings of wars and armies. One of How
elltie looking tall and strong, battling against Elfin warriors. I stood and walked towards it, avoiding looking at the large tapestry to my left of the rows and rows of mouthless soldiers. Their eyes showed too much anger and defeat for my liking.
I pointed to the Howelltie and turned to her.
"Do you have any relation to this species?" Her eyes were far too similar for mere coincidence.
She smiled. "I may or may not." She changed the subject quickly. “I would have thought that one who was led here by dreams would have a streak of prophecy, or is it that someone sent you these dreams?"
I kept my face blank and said nothing.
Pacing, she waited.
I changed the subject, moving to another painting; I studied it. This one was of a Human woman with short, voluminous brown hair and deep brown eyes standing profile view facing an angel. The human woman looked like the essence of everything beautiful in women. Her shape, pleasant and curvy, her eyes kind and loving with a great spark of the mysterious, her skin a dark, rich brown.
To contrast the human, the angel stood tiny and thin, her hair a long fiery mass of bright red, her pale-skinned hand reaching for the human woman's with a look of pure terror in her grass-green eyes. Her snow-white wings bright against the crimson background of the painting and large enough to dwarf both females.
It was truly fascinating. The detail in those eyes. The broken nails of the brunette human woman. The shadows between the feathers of the wings. Was that blood? I shook myself. I was becoming disoriented again, lost in the story of this female's art.
I turned to her. "Who are they? Why does your work affect me so?"
She sighed. "I suppose there must be a reason for you being here."
She threw herself down on the couch, spreading paint onto it as she patted the spot beside her, asking me to come sit with her.
I obliged, ignoring the paint that must be spreading across my leathers beneath me.
She studied me for a moment; I let her.
"The females in that painting I do not know the identity of. They came to me in a dream. I merely painted their likeness, and the way I interpreted their relationship. Those faces you see may not even be their true likeness, but just the way I remember them."
I turned to look back at the painting. "and you believe them to be actual creatures? Not merely an artistic fiction."
I felt her nod beside me as I continued studying the paintings in the room.
"The answer to that actually answers your second question. My dreams are not dreams. They are prophetic. I see both the past and the future. Accurately. I have met creatures and seen planes not even of this universe."
I turned at that. "What do you mean not this universe?"
She tilted her head at the painting of which we spoke. "There are no angels any longer in our universe. Many of the planes and creatures I dream of come from another universe, I know it."
I nodded, thinking to myself. None of my prophecies had come from another universe that I was aware of.
"Do you know how you obtained the magic of prophecy?" I asked her quietly; I knew from whence mine came, but I was supposed to be a special case. There were reasons why the gift of prophecy wasn't just handed out among the creatures in the universe.
"I do." She said calmly.
Surprised, I turned to face her more fully, her silver skin glistening in the sun that was starting to sink through the window behind her.
Her smile strayed from her face as she spoke. "My creator made me as an experiment. I am inspired by Howelltie, as they are the only creation in eons that come close to the longevity of the Fae. When my creator made me, they gave too much, or at the very least, they gave something that they did not intend to. I obtained many gifts."
It was a lot to process. I said the first thing that entered my head. "Are there more like you?"
Her expression became sad. "There were. When it was discovered that we were not what was intended. A mistake..." She spat the word like a curse "...We were all destroyed. All but me; I escaped. When the creatures you saw, the large disgusting ones, were rifted to this plane I hid among them. They are also her creation. I have been here in hiding ever since. I think maybe I somehow sent that dream to you."
I jolted. It struck home, what she had said. "You are Sierade's creation?" It made perfect sense, who else would be doing such experiments, we already knew Sierade was doing these things.
The words hit her hard. She flew from the couch. "What do you know of the Chaos Goddess? Who are you?"
I stood, speaking calmly trying to reassure her. Her eyes were wide with fear. “I am not here on her behalf, that I can promise you. I will not betray you.”
She was breathing heavy, her eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Why
do you refer to her so casually? I have only ever heard her referred to as the Goddess. Only one other refers to her in such a manner.”
I nodded. “Let me guess, a Howelltie male named Sylek?”
She moved forward quickly, a blade appearing in her hand and then suddenly poised at my throat. “Who. Are. You?” she repeated.
“My name is Gaelen.” I spoke now, only slightly wary of the razor-sharp blade at my throat. If she wanted to kill me, she already would have.
Eyes wide and hands trembling, she stepped back, her crimson eyes began spilling tears. “You have undone me Stormcleaver.”
Her sorrow was so deep that I could taste it upon the very air I breathed. Perhaps that was her power though, to affect the very atmosphere, I remembered breathing her in and that breath allowing me to witness her paintings.
I shook my head violently. “No! No, she does not know I am here.”
She sighed now, in apparent resignation. “Trust me, she does. She watches you carefully.”
I twitched, I had thought as much. There were times I could swear I felt her.
The silver creature turned away from me, lowering her head. “That is how you knew to find me, your gift of the prophets, not me sending a dream to you.”
I moved quickly grabbing her shoulders. “How do you know that information?” I shook her.
“I know things even The Goddess does not. Why do you think she hunts me?”
The tears continued to fall from her eyes. “She comes.” She whispered.
I didn’t understand. Sierade was coming here?
My hands were suddenly burning, and the silver of her skin was brighter than it had been before. I let go and watched as a warm aura of silver magic blasted across the cabin, it washed over me, threatening to drown me.
I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, the aura was still there, but lesser. The female’s silver skin was glowing, and her eyes had changed to silver. She was sprouting long strands of black hair from her previously bald skull.
She glided towards me. “Hello stormcleaver.” It was still her voice, but she spoke common with no accent.
I swallowed. “Hello Sierade.”
She smiled and started pacing. “This form cannot hold me for long. I just wanted to thank you for finding her for me.”
“Why not just let her be, look at her brilliance.” I gestured to the paintings surrounding us. “Are you not proud of a creation such as this?”
She looked around at the paintings interestedly and began to walk among them, touching them, stopping to study a detail here or there.
“You know that these paintings are not only mere prophecy. A creature like her cannot be allowed to live. She knows too much, eventually her knowledge would drive her mad. I was the one who told her to paint, lest the dreams destroy her.”
I shook my head. “Leave her be Sierade.”
“Sorry Gaelen, I cannot. I made a mistake with Elatrin.” She turned back to me. Her expression giving away nothing.
“Are you not regretful? That is her name? Elatrin?” I asked, I knew where this was going. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, even as I watched that incredible silver skin was flaking away, her eyes had rims o
f red around them as though they would start bleeding any moment.
“Is she still in there? Can she feel her body ripping apart trying to contain your power?”
She merely nodded. “I have no regrets regarding this matter.”
I couldn’t stand it. “Let her go! Let this whole planet go!” I yelled at her. Into her face, as I rushed up to stand in front of her.
How could things have gone so wrong, so fast?
She smiled eerily, her eyes bleeding freely now. I could see black liquid leaking slowly from her ears, a fingernail fell to the floor. I winced. The smell of blood tangy on my tongue.
“Your wish Gaelen, my command. You should feel privileged, not many can say they have a Goddess obeying their whims.”
Elatrin dropped to the ground suddenly, her limbs flopped around in a way that made my stomach queasy.
I walked over to her and knelt beside her, turning her over. I flinched. This once majestic creature was now demolished, bloody, and nearly unrecognizable. Her body had been unable to handle the power of Sierade, it had literally torn her apart from the inside, out.
“Dammit.” I muttered.
A thought struck me, about my wording before. I rifted into the centre of town, my wings flying loose.
The large grey-skinned creatures were lying dead in the street everywhere. “Dammit!” I exclaimed louder now.
The humans dashed away from me when they noticed me standing there.
I rifted back to the cabin and sat heavily upon the couch. I studied the paintings. Her art truly was immaculate. I had never seen such an accurate depiction of an angel. I wondered when Sierade said they were not mere prophecies.
What more could they be? Was that not enough? Enough to sign her death warrant?
I sighed.
I collected her paintings, every last one, carefully. I collected her corpse just as carefully and rifted the lot home to Elliot.
We hung every one of those paintings and carvings, and tapestries around the compound. They were still incredibly beautiful, but they lost the iridescent, dizzying quality after Elatrin had passed.
Lest we forget. Lest we ever forget.
Year 10,490 AC
