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[columns][center][item=welder's mask][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#D1B300][font=garamond][size=7][size=4]{ a story for keilim }[/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]1,432 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#352B25]The Ridgeback had never really cared about gods. As far as she'd been concerned, she did her own business and the gods did theirs. It was not an unusual attitude for a Lightning dragon to take. "Businesslike" was the best way to describe their relationship with their god, and it suited her just fine.
Still, she thought that like all good employers, even gods had obligations to protect their subordinates. After all, if an employer could handle that, certainly a god could do [i]more[/i]. Couldn't they?
This was the thought that raced through her mind when she was struck by lightning. It happened over the Sunbeam Ruins: She was returning to the Shifting Expanse after completing an errand, and though a thunderstorm was brewing, she had no fear -- doubly so because she was a Lightning dragon. Her kind was largely resistant to electrical shocks; in the rare cases lightning did strike, the damage was almost always minor. Almost always.
She took a direct hit between the shoulder blades. Lightning arced through her body, freezing her forelimbs, her wings. She still recalled the sick way her stomach twisted as she tipped forward and began to fall. How she tried to flex her wings but they simply didn't respond; she recalled the smell of burnt flesh and realized it was her hide, blackened and scorched by the lightning bolt. And then came the pain, blanketing her shoulders like molten steel, searing through to the tender flesh beneath.
She roared as she fell, screaming in both pain and terror. The ground was coming up dangerously fast, and yet so terribly slowly: She knew it only took seconds, but she could see every detail, crystal-clear, growing larger and larger as she plummeted....
Her landing was not gentle. She crushed part of a bamboo grove; wood splintered and gouged into her hide. It was enough to steal away her voice, but not her consciousness. She remembered the [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38799346]Spiral[/url] swirling out of the darkness, a luminous loop of green. The bright eyes fixing upon her, wide and scared; and then the Spiral had screamed in horror, loud enough for both of them. It was almost a relief, in a way. Someone had surely heard; soon help would come....
Help did come. Relief, unfortunately, was much slower in arriving. The Ridgeback had been badly burned by the lightning strike, and further mangled by the fall. The dragons who found her were initially at a loss on what to do. Their healers were not strong enough to undo the damage, and their thaumaturges had no other solutions to offer. Many times they wondered if it might have been kinder to let the Ridgeback die...but it didn't feel right. She clung to life so stubbornly, and they felt they owed it to her to at least find out if she wished to live -- or die.
Where sorcery failed, technology took over. The engineers got to work replacing the parts she had lost. Days stretched into weeks....She had dim, hazy memories of lying beneath a dome of light while the sun crawled across the blue sky, far, far overhead. Would she ever fly again? Would she ever walk? Maybe it didn't matter. So long as she could live...
She regained consciousness in stages. First there was the realization that she still had her legs, her tail. She could still walk, at least. Her wings felt...heavy. She could move them, but they felt weird. Was something wrong? She would have twisted her neck to check, but it was so horribly heavy, and with even the slightest movement, she felt a strange grinding sensation. She imagined, with fascinated horror, that her vertebrae had broken and were scraping together within her spine.
Her vision had also gone...dark. Obscured. The world was still visible, but only through a smoky orange haze. And blackness was closing in on all sides, visible at the edges of her vision. She had heard of this before. The world going dark...Was she dying at last?[/color]
[center][color=#C18E1B]~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~[/color][/center]
[color=#352B25][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=15438539]Crystaline[/url] shut off the machine. As the freezing light faded away, [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34055220]Karmanh[/url] pattered forward. He doffed his hat and queried, "Are you awake?"
The Ridgeback grunted. It came from beneath her new helmet and was very muffled. She grunted again, in surprise this time, and let out a short blast of steam.
"Ah, yes. OK, that, um...You see..."
There had been no other way to save her. She had simply been too damaged. Chunks of flesh burnt to cinders, bones pulverized by the fall. Even they weren't sure how she'd managed to hold on for so long. They hadn't been able to heal her, and so they had [i]rebuilt[/i] her, replacing her bones with steel rods, covering her living flesh with black iron plates. Her wings had been pierced by some of the bamboo trees, and they had patched these over. She would still be able to fly -- it would just...take some getting used to....She had smashed headfirst into the ground, and her face had been hopelessly crushed. They'd had to replace her eyes, install a breathing apparatus.
"You can still see me, can't you? And you're responding, so you can obviously hear." Still, the Pearlcatcher's ears drooped. He looked despondent. "We couldn't do anything about your sense of smell and your vocal cords. So no talking...not anymore. We are...deeply sorry about that. Perhaps in time, we can do something about it, maybe install a voicebox..."
He chattered on, and on, and on. Speaking of things destroyed, things lost. The Ridgeback sat in silence for a long time and then, after he was done talking, she lumbered clumsily away. Also lost.
It seemed paltry to try cheering her up. So instead, they cared for her. They taught her how to eat and drink through her helmet and gave her a place to stay. They communicated patiently as she pantomimed, for she could no longer speak. They tried to get information from her, but all they learned was that she was one of the Stormcatcher's workers from the Shifting Expanse.
[i]Stormcatcher[/i]. The Ridgeback fumed. How deeply insulting for a Lightning dragon to get knocked out of the sky by a [i]lightning bolt[/i]. While on an errand for her god, no less. Where was her deity while she was writhing in pain from her fall, marooned in some strange, far-off land? Had the god cared that she was missing? Had he even noticed?
There was a chapel on the clan grounds, and one afternoon, the Lightweaver's [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26082103]priest[/url] found her here, head bowed before the great, stained-glass panel. Golden light danced across her skin, and behind her helmet, her eyes glowed, soft and soothing.
The priest introduced himself: He was Radiance, himself originally from another Flight. He had in fact met the Ridgeback before, had prayed over her many times while she was recovering from her grievous injuries. The clan had done their best, and he hoped that in the future, they would find a way to restore her to a more normal appearance.
In the meantime...what was she doing here? He watched closely as she pantomimed, and his orb pulsed as he struggled to read her thoughts. Disdain for...the Stormcatcher...A mental image of the Shifting Expanse, accompanied by a feeling of revulsion. Next, he caught images of the lair and the chapel, overlain with a surge of pride. She seemed [i]happy[/i] here. It was almost like...
"You wish to join our clan? Serve the Lightweaver?" he queried. She nodded, and so excited was she that her helmet started heating up, smoke rising in tendrils from the vents. Radiance coughed and batted the vapors away. "Very well, we can talk about that. Can you tell me your name?"
She had had another name, but she scorned it now. It had been given to her by the Stormcatcher's servants, and she would no longer serve that deity. Her allegiance was to the Lightweaver now. With the help of her new clanmates, she chose a new name, and she officially became part of the clan on a bright summer day, with the sun shining triumphantly in the sky and not a dark cloud to be seen.
One might expect her to be frightened of storms after what she had been through, but she was unafraid, almost defiant. She would fly even through typhoons for her new clan. Her goddess' light would cut through even the darkest of storm clouds -- she was [i]Keilim[/i], vessel of light, and no storm would ever again stand in her way.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#D1B300][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
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{ a story for keilim }
written by Disillusionist
1,432 words
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The Ridgeback had never really cared about gods. As far as she'd been concerned, she did her own business and the gods did theirs. It was not an unusual attitude for a Lightning dragon to take. "Businesslike" was the best way to describe their relationship with their god, and it suited her just fine.
Still, she thought that like all good employers, even gods had obligations to protect their subordinates. After all, if an employer could handle that, certainly a god could do more. Couldn't they?
This was the thought that raced through her mind when she was struck by lightning. It happened over the Sunbeam Ruins: She was returning to the Shifting Expanse after completing an errand, and though a thunderstorm was brewing, she had no fear -- doubly so because she was a Lightning dragon. Her kind was largely resistant to electrical shocks; in the rare cases lightning did strike, the damage was almost always minor. Almost always.
She took a direct hit between the shoulder blades. Lightning arced through her body, freezing her forelimbs, her wings. She still recalled the sick way her stomach twisted as she tipped forward and began to fall. How she tried to flex her wings but they simply didn't respond; she recalled the smell of burnt flesh and realized it was her hide, blackened and scorched by the lightning bolt. And then came the pain, blanketing her shoulders like molten steel, searing through to the tender flesh beneath.
She roared as she fell, screaming in both pain and terror. The ground was coming up dangerously fast, and yet so terribly slowly: She knew it only took seconds, but she could see every detail, crystal-clear, growing larger and larger as she plummeted....
Her landing was not gentle. She crushed part of a bamboo grove; wood splintered and gouged into her hide. It was enough to steal away her voice, but not her consciousness. She remembered the Spiral swirling out of the darkness, a luminous loop of green. The bright eyes fixing upon her, wide and scared; and then the Spiral had screamed in horror, loud enough for both of them. It was almost a relief, in a way. Someone had surely heard; soon help would come....
Help did come. Relief, unfortunately, was much slower in arriving. The Ridgeback had been badly burned by the lightning strike, and further mangled by the fall. The dragons who found her were initially at a loss on what to do. Their healers were not strong enough to undo the damage, and their thaumaturges had no other solutions to offer. Many times they wondered if it might have been kinder to let the Ridgeback die...but it didn't feel right. She clung to life so stubbornly, and they felt they owed it to her to at least find out if she wished to live -- or die.
Where sorcery failed, technology took over. The engineers got to work replacing the parts she had lost. Days stretched into weeks....She had dim, hazy memories of lying beneath a dome of light while the sun crawled across the blue sky, far, far overhead. Would she ever fly again? Would she ever walk? Maybe it didn't matter. So long as she could live...
She regained consciousness in stages. First there was the realization that she still had her legs, her tail. She could still walk, at least. Her wings felt...heavy. She could move them, but they felt weird. Was something wrong? She would have twisted her neck to check, but it was so horribly heavy, and with even the slightest movement, she felt a strange grinding sensation. She imagined, with fascinated horror, that her vertebrae had broken and were scraping together within her spine.
Her vision had also gone...dark. Obscured. The world was still visible, but only through a smoky orange haze. And blackness was closing in on all sides, visible at the edges of her vision. She had heard of this before. The world going dark...Was she dying at last?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Crystaline shut off the machine. As the freezing light faded away, Karmanh pattered forward. He doffed his hat and queried, "Are you awake?"
The Ridgeback grunted. It came from beneath her new helmet and was very muffled. She grunted again, in surprise this time, and let out a short blast of steam.
"Ah, yes. OK, that, um...You see..."
There had been no other way to save her. She had simply been too damaged. Chunks of flesh burnt to cinders, bones pulverized by the fall. Even they weren't sure how she'd managed to hold on for so long. They hadn't been able to heal her, and so they had rebuilt her, replacing her bones with steel rods, covering her living flesh with black iron plates. Her wings had been pierced by some of the bamboo trees, and they had patched these over. She would still be able to fly -- it would just...take some getting used to....She had smashed headfirst into the ground, and her face had been hopelessly crushed. They'd had to replace her eyes, install a breathing apparatus.
"You can still see me, can't you? And you're responding, so you can obviously hear." Still, the Pearlcatcher's ears drooped. He looked despondent. "We couldn't do anything about your sense of smell and your vocal cords. So no talking...not anymore. We are...deeply sorry about that. Perhaps in time, we can do something about it, maybe install a voicebox..."
He chattered on, and on, and on. Speaking of things destroyed, things lost. The Ridgeback sat in silence for a long time and then, after he was done talking, she lumbered clumsily away. Also lost.
It seemed paltry to try cheering her up. So instead, they cared for her. They taught her how to eat and drink through her helmet and gave her a place to stay. They communicated patiently as she pantomimed, for she could no longer speak. They tried to get information from her, but all they learned was that she was one of the Stormcatcher's workers from the Shifting Expanse.
Stormcatcher. The Ridgeback fumed. How deeply insulting for a Lightning dragon to get knocked out of the sky by a lightning bolt. While on an errand for her god, no less. Where was her deity while she was writhing in pain from her fall, marooned in some strange, far-off land? Had the god cared that she was missing? Had he even noticed?
There was a chapel on the clan grounds, and one afternoon, the Lightweaver's priest found her here, head bowed before the great, stained-glass panel. Golden light danced across her skin, and behind her helmet, her eyes glowed, soft and soothing.
The priest introduced himself: He was Radiance, himself originally from another Flight. He had in fact met the Ridgeback before, had prayed over her many times while she was recovering from her grievous injuries. The clan had done their best, and he hoped that in the future, they would find a way to restore her to a more normal appearance.
In the meantime...what was she doing here? He watched closely as she pantomimed, and his orb pulsed as he struggled to read her thoughts. Disdain for...the Stormcatcher...A mental image of the Shifting Expanse, accompanied by a feeling of revulsion. Next, he caught images of the lair and the chapel, overlain with a surge of pride. She seemed happy here. It was almost like...
"You wish to join our clan? Serve the Lightweaver?" he queried. She nodded, and so excited was she that her helmet started heating up, smoke rising in tendrils from the vents. Radiance coughed and batted the vapors away. "Very well, we can talk about that. Can you tell me your name?"
She had had another name, but she scorned it now. It had been given to her by the Stormcatcher's servants, and she would no longer serve that deity. Her allegiance was to the Lightweaver now. With the help of her new clanmates, she chose a new name, and she officially became part of the clan on a bright summer day, with the sun shining triumphantly in the sky and not a dark cloud to be seen.
One might expect her to be frightened of storms after what she had been through, but she was unafraid, almost defiant. She would fly even through typhoons for her new clan. Her goddess' light would cut through even the darkest of storm clouds -- she was Keilim, vessel of light, and no storm would ever again stand in her way.
~ The End
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[columns][center][item=breed change: fae][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#BEA55D][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]the star-crossed daughter[/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]3,949 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#0A3D67]They were called the [i]Benetnash[/i], the Daughters of the Bier—an order of assassins who had their headquarters in the Shifting Expanse. They were a small but successful clan, each dragoness highly trained in the arts of combat—and Mesarthim was one of their rising stars. Now in her late adolescence, she was being groomed to become a Chapter Mother, leader of one of the Benetnash's many teams of assassins.
It was not unusual for young Guardians to be quickly promoted. The Search was notorious among the Benetnash, and Chapter Mothers had learned to secure young Guardians' loyalties to the order before they could leave and bind themselves to a Charge. In a line of work such as theirs, they could take no chances. A Daughter's loyalty was to the order—there was no room for loyalty to a Charge.
The Benetnash had their own system for selecting leaders. Candidates were nominated by a Chapter Mother and then put through a series of trials. These were tests of skill and wit, followed by a test of loyalty. Mesarthim, however, never made it to the final tasks. It was a bitter blow for her and all the Benetnash, that one of them should fail so early in the trials of their order.
Her Chapter Mother in particular was disappointed by this. She had been training Mesarthim for a long time, telling her not to falter, to follow the examiners' instructions no matter what. "I, too, was once ignorant of what lay ahead," the old Guardian, Electra, had declared. She had clenched her jaw and counseled Mesarthim, "But hesitant—never. We are dragons of fang and shadow, Daughter. To hesitate is to invite failure, dishonor—and death."
The last trial Mesarthim faced took place in another den of the Benetnash, a small outpost carved inside a crag of rock that stood, lonely and unremarkable, among the dunes of the Shifting Expanse. Deep beneath the sand, the Benetnash had created a training ground for their leader-candidates, mazes littered with traps and hostile creatures, overseen by senior assassins. Mesarthim had successfully navigated these obstacles. She now stood in an anteroom, awaiting instructions for the final trial.
"You will be tested by the Alkaid," said the ringmistress, and though Mesarthim's face remained stoic, she felt a tingle of apprehension. The Benetnash were governed by a group of matriarchs called the [i]Alkaid[/i]—the oldest and most cunning dragonesses of the clan. Their number was never certain; there could be two of them or there could be a dozen, scattered throughout other Chapters, disguised as simple servants or brazenly giving commands.
"Alkaid Gamma will be your examiner for this trial. The trial is one of combat, and she instructs you to show her all you have learned as a Daughter of the Bier."
The message was clear: Mesarthim should not hold back, though she was facing a leader of the Benetnash. She wasn't worried about accidentally killing the old dragoness; an Alkaid would be more than capable of defending herself, and anyway, as a seasoned Daughter, Mesarthim was skilled enough not to accidentally kill her. The Guardian proceeded to the next room and stood before a glittering curtain, waiting for the signal to begin. There would be other trials ahead, but for now she concentrated on this one, watching as the curtain dropped slowly to the floor....
Alkaid Gamma stood on the other side. A squat Snapper, aged and wrinkled, apparently unconcerned by the Guardian towering over her. Mesarthim saw the torchlight wash over her green scales, and something about the image [i]clicked[/i] in her mind.
It was like a switch had been thrown. The Guardian, previously so agile and lethal, now stood like a statue. The ringmistress had shouted "Begin!" a second ago, and that was already too long; Mesarthim could hear her Chapter Mother bellowing in consternation, but the sound seemed to come from underwater, and she couldn't move; every muscle in her body was screaming that it would be [i]wrong[/i] to attack this dragon....
In a burst of magic, Alkaid Gamma bounded forward. Her head smashed into Mesarthim's chest, and with a mighty heave, the Snapper sent her tumbling onto her back. Another blink, and Gamma was next to Mesarthim, ready to deliver a finishing blow with her jaws.
"Cease!" bellowed the ringmistess. Gamma stepped back, leaving Mesarthim to scramble upright and stare at her in dismay. She had never met the Alkaid before, and nobody could have known beforehand, but it was unmistakable—she was looking at her Charge.[/color]
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=2177898][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/p556sald781qozi/lightmid.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#0A3D67]Minutes later, Mesarthim stood before the Alkaid again. There would be no more trials—Gamma calmly explained that she had failed to respond in a hostile situation, as all Daughters had been trained to do, and so she was not a worthy Daughter of the Bier.
"Why did you hesitate, child?" she queried. Mesarthim ignored the chills rippling through her and answered as levelly as she could, "Although I have not begun my Search, it has been calling me for some time. These trials were meant to extinguish that foul desire, yet they led me to you, my Charge." Her voice shook slightly on the last words.
"I see." Gamma nodded. She didn't seem particularly sympathetic. "You said yourself, Mesarthim, that the trials are meant to extinguish the lure of the Search. You are incorrect—I see now why you failed. There is no fault in the trials. They do not remove the pull of the Search. It is instead the Daughter's duty to recognize that feeling...and to ignore it."
The rebuke was clear. Yet Mesarthim couldn't accept it; how could any Guardian overcome so strong an instinct? To her, it was akin to having to suppress the instinct to breathe.
As if reading her mind, Gamma said, "It is possible to ignore that instinct—and to [i]surpass[/i] it. There have been others before you. Other Guardians. Your Chapter Mother was one of them. She was brilliant even then, no older than you were when she completed the trials. Like you, the Search was calling to her all the while."
"And she never went on her Search because of it?" Mesarthim couldn't help asking. Gamma smiled indulgently—but her pink eyes glittered, as cold and distant as stars. "Oh, she did. After the last trial was completed, we gave her the test of loyalty. She went on her Search, found her Charge...and dispatched him where he stood. Two of our number, tasked with shadowing her, confirmed that the deed was done."
Mesarthim stared at the Snapper. A Guardian killing their own Charge...No...[i]No[/i]. It was [i]unthinkable[/i]...!
But old Electra had done it—and, if Gamma was to be believed, so had other Guardians. Countless Guardians, all of them defeating the Search's call by ensuring that those lures, their Charges, were destroyed with their own claws. So that their strength and loyalty would belong to the Benetnash alone.
Gamma was already rising. "I liked you, Mesarthim," she sighed. "Such a bright child...Electra said you showed much promise, and I concurred. But that was then. This is now. The rules are clear: a leader-candidate who fails the trials is not fit to walk the Benetnash’s halls. We shall have to decide what to do with you now."[/color]
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=2177898][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/p556sald781qozi/lightmid.png[/img][/url][/center]
[color=#0A3D67]Leader-candidates were supposed to be among the best of the Benetnash. Any of them who failed their trials were deemed a danger both to themselves and the clan: Failure meant that they lacked the wisdom to use their skills well, that they could injure themselves or others, and that they lacked the clarity and discipline a successful assassin required. When Mesarthim came before the tribunal, she had already decided what her fate would be: extinguishment, her identity forever purged from the records of the Benetnash...and execution.
She stood tall, hearing as they reviewed why she was being cast out of the clan. For her failure to complete the test they had given her, she was to be exiled.
It took the last word a moment to sink in. "Exiled?" she repeated, dumbfounded. Exile was rare, but it did happen. It was...
Her throat went dry. For a disgraced Daughter, exile was a route to madness. The Benetnash had a way to ensure an exile wouldn't return to the clan: They wiped away the exile's memories...but not completely.
"W...Why?" Mesarthim asked, looking around frantically. Alkaid Gamma answered, "The circumstances by which you failed were most unusual, and there is no precedent for them. We the Alkaid, most magnanimous, have decided that this allows you some leeway.
“Furthermore, you are a bright young thing. Your deficiencies have no use here, and after the exile ritual is complete, you will be no threat nor blessing to us. Perhaps you will be of use to another clan." She smiled widely, warmly, and Mesarthim hated her for it; she thought she was being generous and kind. How wrong she was. How wrong...
"Mother Electra—" Mesarthim began, but the Chapter Mother was talking with another Alkaid now, no doubt discussing the prospect of a new candidate to succeed her. They would find that candidate and train her as Mesarthim had once been trained....Memories tumbled through her mind. She struggled to hold on to them. For that was what the Benetnash did: they stripped the memories away a little. Only a little. So that while she would recall being able to do great feats of combat and magic, the knowledge of how to do those things would escape her. It would be like watching images in a scrying glass, seeing someone else perform those incredible deeds—but knowing that she had been able to do them once, a long time ago. A time that was now gone.
Exile carried another burden: a curse. She could speak of the Benetnash, and there would be others who knew they existed—but when [i]she[/i] said the name, all would look at her in disbelief. "They don't exist," they would say to her indulgently, mockingly. "You were never one of them; they never existed. Stop saying you were once an assassin. It's madness. You're mad...."
And the knowledge of what she had been, coupled with the knowledge that she would never have any of that ever again, [i]would[/i] eventually drive her mad.
The thaumaturges were ready. They carried chains with which to bind the Guardian and scrolls with ominous symbols upon them. Despite her fear, Mesarthim was determined to remain calm, to prove that, in the end, she [i]was[/i] a Daughter of the Bier, that no words or magic could ever expunge that. The manacles were fastened to her limbs and she was made to lie down....
"Ah. There is another condition." Gamma stood before her again. "As I am your Charge, it might become possible for you to find me again. So the Alkaid have decreed that you, Mesarthim, shall have your shape stripped from you as well."
"My...shape?" Mesarthim didn't understand. And then a thaumaturge unrolled a scroll, and she did.
And now she [i]did[/i] struggle. "Wait—" she gasped, a second before they clamped a muzzle over her jaws. The thaumaturges moved towards her. One of them shook a sistrum, generating a rattling noise; another swung a set of chimes back and forth so that the air was spangled with sound. Still others chanted, their voices weaving in a thick blanket that they slowly drew over Mesarthim's mind. Next, the incense: soporific and soothing, pulling her deeper and deeper into darkness. Despite her best efforts, her eyelids grew heavy. The Benetnash were reduced to watery shadows swirling around her. There was only one bright spot: the accursed scroll that would divest her of her shape. The thaumaturge held it up, and she gazed at the dragon drawn upon it—a Fae, delicate and spindly, so different from her great, powerful Guardian body.
Her body...It was beginning to disappear. [i]“No,”[/i] she thought, and tried to speak, but the voice that came from her was no longer booming and resonant. It was flat and small, so terribly small.... [i]“Hold on,”[/i] she urged herself; but try though she might, her claws found nothing to grasp. There was only smoke and shadows and the pale scroll with the Fae upon it. It had large eyes...such large eyes....She felt herself falling into them. Her own eyes closed—[/color]
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[color=#0A3D67]Mesarthim woke up fighting. She burst upwards with a screech, scattering the sand that’d begun to bury her. Her wings scraped the air....She lost control and crashed into the ground again.
[i]The trials, Alkaid Gamma, exile[/i]...She remembered the Fae scroll. She stared at her small, delicate claws in dismay.
So they had done it, after all. Now that she was no longer a Guardian, she no longer felt the pull of her Charge. But the memories within her mind remained fresh; she spun around, searching for landmarks—
And found none. Only pale sand, dunes stretching to all horizons in monotonous, featureless waves. Mesarthim felt her new skin prickle as she glanced around. There were no tracks in the sand, and while supplies had been left for her, they bore no identifying marks. She had at least been left with enough knowledge to understand which way was north, and after squinting at her shadow, she set out towards the west.
It was slow, difficult going. She was unused to her new body and moved clumsily, a far cry from the easy speed she had possessed before. The supplies hampered her, but she knew she couldn’t leave them; they were all she had.
[i]“I[/i] will [i]find the Benetnash again. They must take me back, let me retake the trials. Now that I have a new shape, I will surely pass. Then they will take me back. They [/i]must[i]!”[/i]
Night fell. Mesarthim looked up at the stars. All Benetnash were named after those lights, which they used to navigate even in the featureless desert, the strange lands that lay beyond. They were a clearly-marked map to Mesarthim, and she would use them to find her way—
But stopped cold. The stars blazed above her, but the map of the sky was completely unreadable to her now, like a slate wiped clean. She could recall training alongside the other Daughters, learning the names of stars and constellations...but she recognized none of them now; no names came to her. The Benetnash had wiped even that skill from her mind.
For the first time, Mesarthim began to feel cold tingles of fear. The desert, once her home, had become an all-encompassing danger. The stars that would have guided her were useless baubles in the sky. Her strength had been taken away, and she couldn’t recall where the oases lay, let alone where the Benetnash’s wells and safehouses were....
[i]“I must not...rely on the Benetnash.”[/i] She forced herself to accept the words. [i]“I must find...my own way....”[/i]
She struggled deeper into the night, no longer looking for the clan that had raised her—instead hoping to run into someone, [i]anyone[/i], who could save her from this oppressive wasteland. The irony of it was humiliating: She, a daughter of desert assassins, would be at the mercy of the first traveler, the first [i]nobody[/i], she ran into out here.
She was beginning to see now why all the exiles went mad.[/color]
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[color=#0A3D67]Day and night blurred together as she struggled on, and on, and on. Her supplies ran out, and she discarded the useless husks behind her as she fluttered over the dunes. Night fell, and the stars winked out one by one as she stared blearily from where she lay in the sand, all her strength gone.
She rose briefly out of unconsciousness when she became aware of a burning sensation. Her hind legs were bound, and she was being dragged over the searing sand. She glimpsed feathered ears and thought at first she was being hauled by a Skydancer, but the shape was wrong—and then the head turned and she saw a sharp, hooked beak outlined against the sun....
Mesarthim woke up in a simple shelter. Judging by the heat, she was still in the desert, and she lay for a moment, listening to the sounds outside. Humming, the sounds of someone cooking...She could smell vegetables.
Memories of the Benetnash flooded her mind, and she tumbled out of the tent. She startled the [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=32181477]Pearlcatcher[/url] cook; he gasped and spun around, still holding a ladle. Mesarthim, for her part, couldn’t help staring at him. She had once dwarfed nearly all other breeds, but now she was so small, this Pearlcatcher was nearly thrice her size.
“Ah, you’re awake! Were you lost in the desert? It’s happened to us, too, once or twice,” the Pearlcatcher said. He tapped the side of a clay pot and told her, “You’re not supposed to be running around...but I guess it’s time for you to eat.”
Mesarthim sat down on the dirt. “There was...a Talonok...” She unconsciously rubbed her ankles.
“Mm, that was Zubeida. She’s our scout. Sorry about how she treated you; she can be very rough at times.”
Her new frills bristled. Who were these travelers, to wander into her homeland and address her so casually? She barked, her tone less steely than she actually felt, “Who are you?”
The Pearlcatcher introduced himself: He was Origenes, a Pearlcatcher born and raised in the Sunbeam Ruins. Keenly interested in bygone ages and civilizations, he wandered Sornieth, chasing fragments of legends and history. His golden eyes lit up as he spoke; it was clear that he was passionate about his work and intended to explore every nook and cranny of the land. Mesarthim looked at his odd clothes and silently dismissed him as just another treasure hunter.
His companions, who approached as he was talking, were somewhat different. Mesarthim couldn’t help staring at [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31549106]Ashes[/url], his mate and Guardian, but in envy this time. She was every bit as large and powerful as Mesarthim had been (though nowhere near as skilled, she was sure) and was a dragoness of few words. Unlike Origenes, who talked his head off, she only returned Mesarthim’s gaze with a perfunctory nod.
Zubeida was dressed somewhat more practically than Origenes was. A Talonok of the Raptorik variety, she acted as another guard and scout for the group—it was while surveying the land ahead that she’d discovered Mesarthim lying unconscious in the sand. She was nearly as close-mouthed as Ashes, and Mesarthim distrusted her on principle—the Benetnash had never worked with Beastclans, finding them too fractious and unpredictable for their liking.
Origenes closed the introductions with “What were you doing in the sand, anyway?”
Mesarthim had already prepared a cover story for herself. She explained, “I was traveling with another group of dragons, and we lost our way. We began arguing.” She flattened her frills in dismay that wasn’t entirely feigned as she admitted, “Some of them didn’t like the way I spoke. They abandoned me in the desert.”
Origenes’ eyes widened. “Good gods, that’s awful.”
“Do you live near this region?” Zubeida asked. Like most Talonok, she had a harsh, grating voice. Mesarthim hesitated a beat before replying, “I don’t live anywhere, really.”
“Ah, so you’re with one of those nomadic clans. Or, uh, you were, I guess.” Origenes leaned closer, examined her eyes. Mesarthim had to fight back the urge to strike him. “Hmm, Lightning eyes...So you were born in the Shifting Expanse. Have you been to other regions? Perhaps you could guide us through the desert.”
She couldn’t, actually—not anymore. Mesarthim gritted her teeth as she realized this. Origenes remained obliviously hopeful, but Zubeida flicked her ears and muttered, “I think she should eat first.”
So they left her alone to eat. Mesarthim was dismayed to find that the vegetable dish didn’t really agree with her. As a Guardian, she’d been able to eat practically everything, and anyway the Benetnash trained their Daughters to survive on all foodstuffs. But her body was new and untrained, and she instinctively gagged on the vegetables. She forced them down, and was grateful for the roasted locusts Origenes had also tossed in.
She also considered his offer. It was tempting, terribly tempting....She could travel with these overdressed explorers and scour the desert lands. Perhaps they could find the Benetnash....
And then she recalled the curse tied to mentioning the Benetnash’s name. She looked moodily at the empty bowl before trudging over to Origenes.
“Thank you for the food,” she said as she returned the bowl. “Origenes...Have you traveled here long?”
“Not as long as you have, I’m sure,” he said with a wink. Mesarthim fought back a glower. “Have you perhaps heard of a clan of dragons called...the Benetnash?”
The change was astounding: His animated expression was pushed away by something close to repugnance. “The Benet...What...kind of name is that?”
“They are an all-female group of assassins and spies, the Daughters of the Bier. They are supposed to live in this desert....Have you heard of them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mesarthim,” the Pearlcatcher said. “Why, just the very idea of it is absurd! Assassins operating in the desert...and all of them female...What a vivid imagination you have!” He laughed as he spoke, and Mesarthim couldn’t help noticing his eyes shone unusually bright as he said it. Like stars...She looked at Ashes and Zubeida; they had been listening earlier, but the moment she had said the name “Benetnash”, they had turned away.
Origenes put the bowl aside, and as he did, his eyes cleared visibly. When he faced Mesarthim again, he was polite and amiable once more. “What will you do now? Is there anywhere you want to go?” he asked her. It was as if he didn’t recall their previous conversation—and Mesarthim strongly suspected this to be the case.
She admitted, “I do not think I should stay here. It is a dangerous place....Where are you headed?”
“Home.” He pointed east. “We’ve been on the road for some time and need to stock up on supplies. You’re welcome to join us if you’re heading in that direction—we live in the Sunbeam Ruins.”
The Light Lands. Mesarthim’s mind began to race. As a Daughter of the Bier, she’d occasionally been sent there on missions, tasked with eliminating troublesome dragons. While the Benetnash often weren’t told their clients’ motives, they made it their own business to uncover the information for themselves to avoid any conflict of interests. What Mesarthim had learned was that dragons of the Sunbeam Ruins were often targeted for “knowing too much”. Often they had uncovered secrets best left untold, lies better left untangled. Their inherent desire for truth had doomed them.
In the old days, Mesarthim would’ve scoffed at the Light drakes’ propensity for digging up information—but now her interest was piqued. Those chasers of truth—perhaps they might find some way to break through the curse that shrouded her origins. They could peel back the illusion tied to the Benetnash’s name, lift the curse that plagued the exiles...
“I will travel with you, if it is not much trouble,” Mesarthim said. She inclined her head to Origenes. “I would like to see your home.”
“Splendid! We’ll leave once you’re well enough to travel. Have you ever been there, by the way?”
“A few times,” Mesarthim said with a soft and secret smile. Origenes beamed back, and he started chattering again, talking about the ruins, artifacts, and legends of his homeland. Mesarthim tuned him out, of course. She had no interest in such misty concepts. She would instead need the light of truth to cut through the illusion that’d cursed her—and after that, she would return to the shadows, where she belonged.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#BEA55D][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[columns][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2508316/1][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/230703094357295106/479361604928929823/ff18_writing.gif[/img][/url][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#9494A9][b]Note:[/b] This story was originally written for and submitted to [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2508316/1]The Historian's Collection[/url] writing contest, where it won first prize (Freestyle prompt).[/color][/size][/columns]
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the star-crossed daughter
written by Disillusionist
3,949 words
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They were called the Benetnash, the Daughters of the Bier—an order of assassins who had their headquarters in the Shifting Expanse. They were a small but successful clan, each dragoness highly trained in the arts of combat—and Mesarthim was one of their rising stars. Now in her late adolescence, she was being groomed to become a Chapter Mother, leader of one of the Benetnash's many teams of assassins.
It was not unusual for young Guardians to be quickly promoted. The Search was notorious among the Benetnash, and Chapter Mothers had learned to secure young Guardians' loyalties to the order before they could leave and bind themselves to a Charge. In a line of work such as theirs, they could take no chances. A Daughter's loyalty was to the order—there was no room for loyalty to a Charge.
The Benetnash had their own system for selecting leaders. Candidates were nominated by a Chapter Mother and then put through a series of trials. These were tests of skill and wit, followed by a test of loyalty. Mesarthim, however, never made it to the final tasks. It was a bitter blow for her and all the Benetnash, that one of them should fail so early in the trials of their order.
Her Chapter Mother in particular was disappointed by this. She had been training Mesarthim for a long time, telling her not to falter, to follow the examiners' instructions no matter what. "I, too, was once ignorant of what lay ahead," the old Guardian, Electra, had declared. She had clenched her jaw and counseled Mesarthim, "But hesitant—never. We are dragons of fang and shadow, Daughter. To hesitate is to invite failure, dishonor—and death."
The last trial Mesarthim faced took place in another den of the Benetnash, a small outpost carved inside a crag of rock that stood, lonely and unremarkable, among the dunes of the Shifting Expanse. Deep beneath the sand, the Benetnash had created a training ground for their leader-candidates, mazes littered with traps and hostile creatures, overseen by senior assassins. Mesarthim had successfully navigated these obstacles. She now stood in an anteroom, awaiting instructions for the final trial.
"You will be tested by the Alkaid," said the ringmistress, and though Mesarthim's face remained stoic, she felt a tingle of apprehension. The Benetnash were governed by a group of matriarchs called the Alkaid—the oldest and most cunning dragonesses of the clan. Their number was never certain; there could be two of them or there could be a dozen, scattered throughout other Chapters, disguised as simple servants or brazenly giving commands.
"Alkaid Gamma will be your examiner for this trial. The trial is one of combat, and she instructs you to show her all you have learned as a Daughter of the Bier."
The message was clear: Mesarthim should not hold back, though she was facing a leader of the Benetnash. She wasn't worried about accidentally killing the old dragoness; an Alkaid would be more than capable of defending herself, and anyway, as a seasoned Daughter, Mesarthim was skilled enough not to accidentally kill her. The Guardian proceeded to the next room and stood before a glittering curtain, waiting for the signal to begin. There would be other trials ahead, but for now she concentrated on this one, watching as the curtain dropped slowly to the floor....
Alkaid Gamma stood on the other side. A squat Snapper, aged and wrinkled, apparently unconcerned by the Guardian towering over her. Mesarthim saw the torchlight wash over her green scales, and something about the image clicked in her mind.
It was like a switch had been thrown. The Guardian, previously so agile and lethal, now stood like a statue. The ringmistress had shouted "Begin!" a second ago, and that was already too long; Mesarthim could hear her Chapter Mother bellowing in consternation, but the sound seemed to come from underwater, and she couldn't move; every muscle in her body was screaming that it would be wrong to attack this dragon....
In a burst of magic, Alkaid Gamma bounded forward. Her head smashed into Mesarthim's chest, and with a mighty heave, the Snapper sent her tumbling onto her back. Another blink, and Gamma was next to Mesarthim, ready to deliver a finishing blow with her jaws.
"Cease!" bellowed the ringmistess. Gamma stepped back, leaving Mesarthim to scramble upright and stare at her in dismay. She had never met the Alkaid before, and nobody could have known beforehand, but it was unmistakable—she was looking at her Charge.
Minutes later, Mesarthim stood before the Alkaid again. There would be no more trials—Gamma calmly explained that she had failed to respond in a hostile situation, as all Daughters had been trained to do, and so she was not a worthy Daughter of the Bier.
"Why did you hesitate, child?" she queried. Mesarthim ignored the chills rippling through her and answered as levelly as she could, "Although I have not begun my Search, it has been calling me for some time. These trials were meant to extinguish that foul desire, yet they led me to you, my Charge." Her voice shook slightly on the last words.
"I see." Gamma nodded. She didn't seem particularly sympathetic. "You said yourself, Mesarthim, that the trials are meant to extinguish the lure of the Search. You are incorrect—I see now why you failed. There is no fault in the trials. They do not remove the pull of the Search. It is instead the Daughter's duty to recognize that feeling...and to ignore it."
The rebuke was clear. Yet Mesarthim couldn't accept it; how could any Guardian overcome so strong an instinct? To her, it was akin to having to suppress the instinct to breathe.
As if reading her mind, Gamma said, "It is possible to ignore that instinct—and to surpass it. There have been others before you. Other Guardians. Your Chapter Mother was one of them. She was brilliant even then, no older than you were when she completed the trials. Like you, the Search was calling to her all the while."
"And she never went on her Search because of it?" Mesarthim couldn't help asking. Gamma smiled indulgently—but her pink eyes glittered, as cold and distant as stars. "Oh, she did. After the last trial was completed, we gave her the test of loyalty. She went on her Search, found her Charge...and dispatched him where he stood. Two of our number, tasked with shadowing her, confirmed that the deed was done."
Mesarthim stared at the Snapper. A Guardian killing their own Charge...No...No. It was unthinkable...!
But old Electra had done it—and, if Gamma was to be believed, so had other Guardians. Countless Guardians, all of them defeating the Search's call by ensuring that those lures, their Charges, were destroyed with their own claws. So that their strength and loyalty would belong to the Benetnash alone.
Gamma was already rising. "I liked you, Mesarthim," she sighed. "Such a bright child...Electra said you showed much promise, and I concurred. But that was then. This is now. The rules are clear: a leader-candidate who fails the trials is not fit to walk the Benetnash’s halls. We shall have to decide what to do with you now."
Leader-candidates were supposed to be among the best of the Benetnash. Any of them who failed their trials were deemed a danger both to themselves and the clan: Failure meant that they lacked the wisdom to use their skills well, that they could injure themselves or others, and that they lacked the clarity and discipline a successful assassin required. When Mesarthim came before the tribunal, she had already decided what her fate would be: extinguishment, her identity forever purged from the records of the Benetnash...and execution.
She stood tall, hearing as they reviewed why she was being cast out of the clan. For her failure to complete the test they had given her, she was to be exiled.
It took the last word a moment to sink in. "Exiled?" she repeated, dumbfounded. Exile was rare, but it did happen. It was...
Her throat went dry. For a disgraced Daughter, exile was a route to madness. The Benetnash had a way to ensure an exile wouldn't return to the clan: They wiped away the exile's memories...but not completely.
"W...Why?" Mesarthim asked, looking around frantically. Alkaid Gamma answered, "The circumstances by which you failed were most unusual, and there is no precedent for them. We the Alkaid, most magnanimous, have decided that this allows you some leeway.
“Furthermore, you are a bright young thing. Your deficiencies have no use here, and after the exile ritual is complete, you will be no threat nor blessing to us. Perhaps you will be of use to another clan." She smiled widely, warmly, and Mesarthim hated her for it; she thought she was being generous and kind. How wrong she was. How wrong...
"Mother Electra—" Mesarthim began, but the Chapter Mother was talking with another Alkaid now, no doubt discussing the prospect of a new candidate to succeed her. They would find that candidate and train her as Mesarthim had once been trained....Memories tumbled through her mind. She struggled to hold on to them. For that was what the Benetnash did: they stripped the memories away a little. Only a little. So that while she would recall being able to do great feats of combat and magic, the knowledge of how to do those things would escape her. It would be like watching images in a scrying glass, seeing someone else perform those incredible deeds—but knowing that she had been able to do them once, a long time ago. A time that was now gone.
Exile carried another burden: a curse. She could speak of the Benetnash, and there would be others who knew they existed—but when she said the name, all would look at her in disbelief. "They don't exist," they would say to her indulgently, mockingly. "You were never one of them; they never existed. Stop saying you were once an assassin. It's madness. You're mad...."
And the knowledge of what she had been, coupled with the knowledge that she would never have any of that ever again, would eventually drive her mad.
The thaumaturges were ready. They carried chains with which to bind the Guardian and scrolls with ominous symbols upon them. Despite her fear, Mesarthim was determined to remain calm, to prove that, in the end, she was a Daughter of the Bier, that no words or magic could ever expunge that. The manacles were fastened to her limbs and she was made to lie down....
"Ah. There is another condition." Gamma stood before her again. "As I am your Charge, it might become possible for you to find me again. So the Alkaid have decreed that you, Mesarthim, shall have your shape stripped from you as well."
"My...shape?" Mesarthim didn't understand. And then a thaumaturge unrolled a scroll, and she did.
And now she did struggle. "Wait—" she gasped, a second before they clamped a muzzle over her jaws. The thaumaturges moved towards her. One of them shook a sistrum, generating a rattling noise; another swung a set of chimes back and forth so that the air was spangled with sound. Still others chanted, their voices weaving in a thick blanket that they slowly drew over Mesarthim's mind. Next, the incense: soporific and soothing, pulling her deeper and deeper into darkness. Despite her best efforts, her eyelids grew heavy. The Benetnash were reduced to watery shadows swirling around her. There was only one bright spot: the accursed scroll that would divest her of her shape. The thaumaturge held it up, and she gazed at the dragon drawn upon it—a Fae, delicate and spindly, so different from her great, powerful Guardian body.
Her body...It was beginning to disappear. “No,” she thought, and tried to speak, but the voice that came from her was no longer booming and resonant. It was flat and small, so terribly small.... “Hold on,” she urged herself; but try though she might, her claws found nothing to grasp. There was only smoke and shadows and the pale scroll with the Fae upon it. It had large eyes...such large eyes....She felt herself falling into them. Her own eyes closed—
Mesarthim woke up fighting. She burst upwards with a screech, scattering the sand that’d begun to bury her. Her wings scraped the air....She lost control and crashed into the ground again.
The trials, Alkaid Gamma, exile...She remembered the Fae scroll. She stared at her small, delicate claws in dismay.
So they had done it, after all. Now that she was no longer a Guardian, she no longer felt the pull of her Charge. But the memories within her mind remained fresh; she spun around, searching for landmarks—
And found none. Only pale sand, dunes stretching to all horizons in monotonous, featureless waves. Mesarthim felt her new skin prickle as she glanced around. There were no tracks in the sand, and while supplies had been left for her, they bore no identifying marks. She had at least been left with enough knowledge to understand which way was north, and after squinting at her shadow, she set out towards the west.
It was slow, difficult going. She was unused to her new body and moved clumsily, a far cry from the easy speed she had possessed before. The supplies hampered her, but she knew she couldn’t leave them; they were all she had.
“I will find the Benetnash again. They must take me back, let me retake the trials. Now that I have a new shape, I will surely pass. Then they will take me back. They must!”
Night fell. Mesarthim looked up at the stars. All Benetnash were named after those lights, which they used to navigate even in the featureless desert, the strange lands that lay beyond. They were a clearly-marked map to Mesarthim, and she would use them to find her way—
But stopped cold. The stars blazed above her, but the map of the sky was completely unreadable to her now, like a slate wiped clean. She could recall training alongside the other Daughters, learning the names of stars and constellations...but she recognized none of them now; no names came to her. The Benetnash had wiped even that skill from her mind.
For the first time, Mesarthim began to feel cold tingles of fear. The desert, once her home, had become an all-encompassing danger. The stars that would have guided her were useless baubles in the sky. Her strength had been taken away, and she couldn’t recall where the oases lay, let alone where the Benetnash’s wells and safehouses were....
“I must not...rely on the Benetnash.” She forced herself to accept the words. “I must find...my own way....”
She struggled deeper into the night, no longer looking for the clan that had raised her—instead hoping to run into someone, anyone, who could save her from this oppressive wasteland. The irony of it was humiliating: She, a daughter of desert assassins, would be at the mercy of the first traveler, the first nobody, she ran into out here.
She was beginning to see now why all the exiles went mad.
Day and night blurred together as she struggled on, and on, and on. Her supplies ran out, and she discarded the useless husks behind her as she fluttered over the dunes. Night fell, and the stars winked out one by one as she stared blearily from where she lay in the sand, all her strength gone.
She rose briefly out of unconsciousness when she became aware of a burning sensation. Her hind legs were bound, and she was being dragged over the searing sand. She glimpsed feathered ears and thought at first she was being hauled by a Skydancer, but the shape was wrong—and then the head turned and she saw a sharp, hooked beak outlined against the sun....
Mesarthim woke up in a simple shelter. Judging by the heat, she was still in the desert, and she lay for a moment, listening to the sounds outside. Humming, the sounds of someone cooking...She could smell vegetables.
Memories of the Benetnash flooded her mind, and she tumbled out of the tent. She startled the Pearlcatcher cook; he gasped and spun around, still holding a ladle. Mesarthim, for her part, couldn’t help staring at him. She had once dwarfed nearly all other breeds, but now she was so small, this Pearlcatcher was nearly thrice her size.
“Ah, you’re awake! Were you lost in the desert? It’s happened to us, too, once or twice,” the Pearlcatcher said. He tapped the side of a clay pot and told her, “You’re not supposed to be running around...but I guess it’s time for you to eat.”
Mesarthim sat down on the dirt. “There was...a Talonok...” She unconsciously rubbed her ankles.
“Mm, that was Zubeida. She’s our scout. Sorry about how she treated you; she can be very rough at times.”
Her new frills bristled. Who were these travelers, to wander into her homeland and address her so casually? She barked, her tone less steely than she actually felt, “Who are you?”
The Pearlcatcher introduced himself: He was Origenes, a Pearlcatcher born and raised in the Sunbeam Ruins. Keenly interested in bygone ages and civilizations, he wandered Sornieth, chasing fragments of legends and history. His golden eyes lit up as he spoke; it was clear that he was passionate about his work and intended to explore every nook and cranny of the land. Mesarthim looked at his odd clothes and silently dismissed him as just another treasure hunter.
His companions, who approached as he was talking, were somewhat different. Mesarthim couldn’t help staring at Ashes, his mate and Guardian, but in envy this time. She was every bit as large and powerful as Mesarthim had been (though nowhere near as skilled, she was sure) and was a dragoness of few words. Unlike Origenes, who talked his head off, she only returned Mesarthim’s gaze with a perfunctory nod.
Zubeida was dressed somewhat more practically than Origenes was. A Talonok of the Raptorik variety, she acted as another guard and scout for the group—it was while surveying the land ahead that she’d discovered Mesarthim lying unconscious in the sand. She was nearly as close-mouthed as Ashes, and Mesarthim distrusted her on principle—the Benetnash had never worked with Beastclans, finding them too fractious and unpredictable for their liking.
Origenes closed the introductions with “What were you doing in the sand, anyway?”
Mesarthim had already prepared a cover story for herself. She explained, “I was traveling with another group of dragons, and we lost our way. We began arguing.” She flattened her frills in dismay that wasn’t entirely feigned as she admitted, “Some of them didn’t like the way I spoke. They abandoned me in the desert.”
Origenes’ eyes widened. “Good gods, that’s awful.”
“Do you live near this region?” Zubeida asked. Like most Talonok, she had a harsh, grating voice. Mesarthim hesitated a beat before replying, “I don’t live anywhere, really.”
“Ah, so you’re with one of those nomadic clans. Or, uh, you were, I guess.” Origenes leaned closer, examined her eyes. Mesarthim had to fight back the urge to strike him. “Hmm, Lightning eyes...So you were born in the Shifting Expanse. Have you been to other regions? Perhaps you could guide us through the desert.”
She couldn’t, actually—not anymore. Mesarthim gritted her teeth as she realized this. Origenes remained obliviously hopeful, but Zubeida flicked her ears and muttered, “I think she should eat first.”
So they left her alone to eat. Mesarthim was dismayed to find that the vegetable dish didn’t really agree with her. As a Guardian, she’d been able to eat practically everything, and anyway the Benetnash trained their Daughters to survive on all foodstuffs. But her body was new and untrained, and she instinctively gagged on the vegetables. She forced them down, and was grateful for the roasted locusts Origenes had also tossed in.
She also considered his offer. It was tempting, terribly tempting....She could travel with these overdressed explorers and scour the desert lands. Perhaps they could find the Benetnash....
And then she recalled the curse tied to mentioning the Benetnash’s name. She looked moodily at the empty bowl before trudging over to Origenes.
“Thank you for the food,” she said as she returned the bowl. “Origenes...Have you traveled here long?”
“Not as long as you have, I’m sure,” he said with a wink. Mesarthim fought back a glower. “Have you perhaps heard of a clan of dragons called...the Benetnash?”
The change was astounding: His animated expression was pushed away by something close to repugnance. “The Benet...What...kind of name is that?”
“They are an all-female group of assassins and spies, the Daughters of the Bier. They are supposed to live in this desert....Have you heard of them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mesarthim,” the Pearlcatcher said. “Why, just the very idea of it is absurd! Assassins operating in the desert...and all of them female...What a vivid imagination you have!” He laughed as he spoke, and Mesarthim couldn’t help noticing his eyes shone unusually bright as he said it. Like stars...She looked at Ashes and Zubeida; they had been listening earlier, but the moment she had said the name “Benetnash”, they had turned away.
Origenes put the bowl aside, and as he did, his eyes cleared visibly. When he faced Mesarthim again, he was polite and amiable once more. “What will you do now? Is there anywhere you want to go?” he asked her. It was as if he didn’t recall their previous conversation—and Mesarthim strongly suspected this to be the case.
She admitted, “I do not think I should stay here. It is a dangerous place....Where are you headed?”
“Home.” He pointed east. “We’ve been on the road for some time and need to stock up on supplies. You’re welcome to join us if you’re heading in that direction—we live in the Sunbeam Ruins.”
The Light Lands. Mesarthim’s mind began to race. As a Daughter of the Bier, she’d occasionally been sent there on missions, tasked with eliminating troublesome dragons. While the Benetnash often weren’t told their clients’ motives, they made it their own business to uncover the information for themselves to avoid any conflict of interests. What Mesarthim had learned was that dragons of the Sunbeam Ruins were often targeted for “knowing too much”. Often they had uncovered secrets best left untold, lies better left untangled. Their inherent desire for truth had doomed them.
In the old days, Mesarthim would’ve scoffed at the Light drakes’ propensity for digging up information—but now her interest was piqued. Those chasers of truth—perhaps they might find some way to break through the curse that shrouded her origins. They could peel back the illusion tied to the Benetnash’s name, lift the curse that plagued the exiles...
“I will travel with you, if it is not much trouble,” Mesarthim said. She inclined her head to Origenes. “I would like to see your home.”
“Splendid! We’ll leave once you’re well enough to travel. Have you ever been there, by the way?”
“A few times,” Mesarthim said with a soft and secret smile. Origenes beamed back, and he started chattering again, talking about the ruins, artifacts, and legends of his homeland. Mesarthim tuned him out, of course. She had no interest in such misty concepts. She would instead need the light of truth to cut through the illusion that’d cursed her—and after that, she would return to the shadows, where she belonged.
~ The End
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Note: This story was originally written for and submitted to The Historian's Collection writing contest, where it won first prize (Freestyle prompt).
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[columns][center][item=flamerest embers][/center][nextcol][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#005F49][font=garamond][size=7][size=4][b]it came from the ashfall waste![/b][/size][/size][/font][/color]
[size=2]written by Disillusionist
[color=#9494A9]2,885 words[/color][/size][/columns]
[color=#AA0025][i]"Go away!" [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33209964]Aidan[/url] yelled back at the...[/i]thing[i] that was following him. It was always there, and had been since he'd left the Ashfall Waste. As he lumbered ahead, he turned the situation over in his mind....Really, he should have stayed at home. He ground his teeth, remembering the conversation that'd brought him here....[/i][/color]
[color=#B23B07]"Dan, you should go have some fun. I mean, it's a festival!" [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31033001]Laurant[/url] gave him a playful headbutt. Aidan remained somewhat hesitant; he [i]had[/i] been a great traveler in his adolescent years, but that had been quite some time ago, and he had so many responsibilities now. To be quite blunt about it, he rather [i]liked[/i] having responsibilities. It was nice to have things to focus on, and the prestige that came with being the Disillusionists' Chief of Security wasn't too bad, either.
He reminded Laurant of this, and she just laughed and shook her head. "Oh, really, I don't think anything's going to crop up that the clan can't handle. Come now, Aidan, there's peace between all Flights, and it's a great opportunity to travel. Why don't you tag along with Carrot-head and me? We've heard of something called an [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2511464]Ember Toss[/url]—should be a good chance for [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33029109]Faust[/url] to practice his fire-throwing skills. He was abysmal in [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/forga/2357265]Fortune's Game[/url] during the Crystalline Gala."
Aidan looked morosely at "Carrot-head", her Charge. He was a huge Imperial about twice her length, and he gave Aidan an equally doleful look and mouthed the words [i]"Help me!"[/i] Despite himself, the red Guardian couldn't help feeling sorry for him.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt. I haven't been to the Ashfall Waste for quite some time; it'll be interesting to see how it's changed since then. Hmm. Where exactly do you want to go?"
In the Ashfall Waste, Aidan was somewhat dismayed to discover that the Ember Toss involved just that: tossing glowing embers. Laurant looked blankly at him when he expressed his unease. "Well, really, it's an Ember Toss. It is what it says on the tin."
"I thought it was...a game. That didn't involve...[size=2]tossing...[/size][size=1]embers...[/size]" Aidan's voice shrank as he said it. He sounded incredibly stupid even to himself.
He looked to Faustino for support and realized he was lost: the Imperial was already gazing at the furnace with the determination he normally reserved for divesting annoying customers of their money. He started to lumber forward, absently jostling other dragons aside, and rumbled, "Yes, hello, I would like to throw bits of fire at your furnace, [size=2]please...[/size]"
Aidan shook his head and mumbled something about standing on the sidelines for a while. And to his credit, he did stay there. For a while. Faustino and Laurant got into another argument, though, and he realized he'd be standing there for longer than he'd anticipated. He sighed and began looking around for something to eat and drink. He had his own supplies, but festival foods were always special treats, and he figured he ought to enjoy himself while he was away from home.
He noticed a stall with free cookie samples. Tentatively he picked one up and began to munch....It was delicious, and filled his throat and belly with a soothing heat. The label above the trays said "Cind Mints"...and another, larger banner above it advertised a guild called the [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/frd/2507689/1][i]Trail Blazers[/i][/url]. It looked as though they were recruiting members during the festival and needed more help to explore the new island that'd sprung up off the coast.
[i]"Well, why not?"[/i] Aidan thought. It might have been the excitement of the festival, or else the Cind Mint was talking to him, but he began to feel the first tingles of excitement, the anticipation one gets when they're about to embark on a journey. His day-to-day routine in the Disillusionists' clan was peaceful enough, but there was a fine line between "peaceful" and "boring", and he didn't want to slip over it. With the festival ongoing, it was a good opportunity to explore that strange new land—he could take care of himself, and if he couldn't, he figured the guild would help him out.
He stepped beneath the banner and went looking for the dragon in charge. A few hours later, he was good to go. One of his tasks involved delivering boxes of cookies.[/color]
[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/cjl26aor1qfa1ho/Hor-divider-640.png[/img][/url]
[color=#AA0025][i]“Go away!" Aidan repeated. He looked back, and the thing retreated behind a bush. He could hear it crackling and muttering to itself; its glow grew more visible as the sun crept towards the horizon. It had been dark, too, when he'd first encountered it....[/i][/color]
[color=#B23B07]To make Aidan's travels easier, the guild had provided him with maps—the ones of the Ashfall Waste had been updated with the new landmass, and Aidan was intrigued by it. He'd already made some cookie deliveries; his next stop was the Windswept Plateau. On his way there, he would have to pass that new island....It wasn’t really out of his way. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stop over, maybe poke around a bit, if only for curiosity’s sake. [i]"Might even be a useful shortcut,"[/i] he decided, angling slightly towards the west.
It was early afternoon when Aidan alighted on the shore of the island. But there was so much smoke and heat, he was stuck in perpetual twilight, as if night was approaching. The sky above was a weird, overcast grayish-blue...or orange....It shimmered with so many heatwaves that it was almost impossible to put a single color to it. All around Aidan, plumes of smoke and steam wafted from the ground, which was glassy black, yet seemed to glow with a weird light of its own. Vegetation was scarce, and there was not another animal to be seen.
Aidan turned around uneasily, feeling as if he'd landed in the Underworld. The place looked a lot more intimidating up close, and he began to question why he’d bothered coming over at all. [i]"I should get back to delivering these cookies. But I’m getting hungry....I'll have to eat something first."[/i]
The cookies were tempting, but Aidan had been given additional supplies, and he munched on these instead. He made sure to keep an eye on the boxes as he chewed. The ground was uncomfortably warm, and it would be embarrassing for him if they caught fire. He thought he could smell them getting burnt already....
And then he became aware of something else: a dim glow to the north. He squinted, but the distance and distortions were too great; he couldn't guess what it was. [i]"A lava flow? Torches from explorers?"[/i] he thought. He swallowed his food and tried to beat the smoke away. It seemed that the light was moving, moving... “Is someone out there?” he called.
The light paused. Aidan expected to hear a shouted reply—and then the light went out. Instantly the Guardian was on high alert, frills raised. He was quite near the sea, and thoughts of wreckers and pirates raced through his mind. Whoever had doused that light was clearly trying to hide from him.
[i]“Time to go.”[/i] He scooped up his bags and slung them over one wing. As he did, he noticed the ground was starting to scorch his soles. A cold wave burst along his scales—and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature. Obeying an instinct louder than thought, he jumped backwards, soaring into the air. The smoke closed up below him, but not before he saw the ground suddenly heat to red—and then orange.
With a thundering roar, a plume of fire burst up from the ground. The smoke swirled madly, suddenly choking-hot, and Aidan coughed and turned away. He flew blindly, instinctively heading back to the mainland. He had definitely overstayed his welcome and didn’t want to stick around for what came next.
He did glance back, though. The island was still dimly visible, smoke swirling around its shores again. The flames were nowhere to be seen. [i]“A minor volcanic eruption? Looks like the land’s still unstable. It’s a good thing I got out of there....”[/i] And then the ground was below him and he landed, somewhat gingerly, on the shore of the mainland. He squinted at the island a moment longer, waiting to see what would happen next, but nothing moved, and nothing had changed.
Although the ground here was cool, Aidan was still leery. He decided that perhaps it might be better to fly for a while, for safety’s sake. He put the island out of his mind and launched into the air again.
It turned out to be a good idea. He made good time, and by the time the sun touched the western horizon, the Windswept Plateau was in sight. He could camp out in the wilderness near the border, and in the morning he could cross and then start making his deliveries again.
He made camp that night, curled securely around his belongings. His sleep was restful at first—but towards dawn, he woke up, his ear frills tingling. A crackling, whispering noise....He raised his head and prepared to bound upright. As he did, he caught a glimpse of something—a bright spot—darting away behind the trees. Its light faded, but he could still hear it, whispering and muttering, crackling like a dry brush fire.[/color]
[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/cjl26aor1qfa1ho/Hor-divider-640.png[/img][/url]
[color=#AA0025][i]It kept on following him. He never got a clear look at it; it hovered only at the corners of his vision, darting out of sight no matter how quickly he turned. It was less visible in the day, when sunlight obscured it, but at night Aidan could see its glow, sometimes orange, sometimes red. Like the fires of the Ashfall Waste.
Its voice was omnipresent, too, always crackling and whispering. Sometimes he would be able to get away from it for a while, but it would be back at night, chattering to him even on the edges of his dreams.[/i][/color]
[color=#B23B07]Now Aidan was back in the Sunbeam Ruins, and he still hadn’t managed to shake the darned thing off. He had a couple of deliveries to make here, and he needed to pick up some supplies anyway. He was already having misgivings, though, and he slowed down when he saw the lair looming in the distance. The whatever-it-was had followed him from the Ashfall Waste, over the Windswept Plateau, and even island-hopping across the Sea of a Thousand Currents hadn’t convinced it to go away. Other dragons had been able to see and hear it, so Aidan knew he wasn’t crazy at least—but it was beginning to look as though he was [i]cursed[/i].
He stopped at the edge of the trees, where they marked the clan’s territory. He ground his teeth as he thought to himself, [i]“What to do, what to d—”[/i]
“Lord Aidan?”
“GAAAAAAHH!” Aidan spun around, almost spraying food packets everywhere. The Tundra who’d spoken hopped nimbly over his lashing tail and then stood there, looking only mildly interested. By the look of things, she had been out gathering; Aidan could see bundles of plants poking out of the slings along her sides.
“[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34540094]Aurelie[/url]! What’re you doing out—Wait, no, that’s a stupid question. How long have you been out here?”
Aurelie yawned at him. “Why?” she asked, calmly patting her fur into place. Aidan ignored the question, instead raising his head to look beyond her. It was still light out; he couldn’t tell if the dratblatted [i]thing[/i] had followed him all the way here. He’d tried ditching it a half-hour ago by taking a roundabout route past some rivers, but he figured it was only a matter of time till it showed up again.
He motioned Aurelie closer with a swing of his head. “I’m being followed by a thing.”
Her interest was piqued. Her eyes shone visibly, and her ears rose as she gasped, “Wow, [i]really[/i]?”
“[i]Sh-sh-shhhh![/i] Aurelie, this is [i]serious[/i]! It won’t leave me alone no matter which way I go, and it won’t shut up.” The Chief of Security rubbed the back of his forepaw across his eyes. “It won’t [i]shut up![/i]”
“Yes,” Aurelie answered calmly, “most of them are like that.” She looked dreamily beyond him, into the deeper darkness of the trees. Aidan started to get a slightly sick feeling.
“Can you help me? I don’t want to go into the lair in case it follows me and decides it wants to stay. One creepy [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27282420]phantom[/url] is more than enough already, thank you! Could you go get [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28230211]Rahenna[/url]? Or that [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43097083]rainmaker[/url]—see if they can convince it to leave.”
“There won’t be any need for that.” Aurelie’s voice was slightly muffled. Aidan turned to look at her, and his eyes bulged when he saw that she was rooting in one of his supply bags, already halfway down the hatch. “[i]What are you doing[/i]?!”
“Mm, I’m helping you. See?” Aurelie slid back out again with a box of cookies clutched in her paws. Aidan gawped at her. “Wait, [i]no[/i], I’m supposed to deliver those!”
“I’ll pay for it. You want me to help you, right?” Aurelie popped the box open. Aidan recognized the scent of slightly burnt Cind Mints; the aroma wafted heavily into the air.
He recognized something else, too: a familiar chittering crackle. An eye-blink, and there it was, that accursed luminance gliding through the shadows beneath the trees. It flitted from tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping just out of sight. Aidan asked hoarsely, “You can see it, can’t you?”
“Yes, Lord Aidan, I’m not blind. Hey...hello?” Aurelie raised her voice. She raised the box, too, jiggling it so that the cookies inside rustled invitingly.
The grove grew brighter. Aurelie murmured, “Maybe you should step to where you have more room, Lord Aidan.”
The red Guardian growled in reply. But he did as advised, backing away until he was standing out in the open. He looked back quickly; the lair was within sight, and he could roar loud enough to alert his fellows if trouble occurred.
Then he faced forward again and almost choked. In the instant he’d looked away, a bright light had filled the clearing where he’d been standing with Aurelie. The Tundra stayed where she was, waving the box of cookies in the air; but Aidan looked forward just as she flung the box, and it disappeared with a burst of noise into the brightness. There was a [i]whoomph[/i], a puff of hot air, and a burnt smell so pungent Aidan actually closed his eyes and cringed. Then a cool breeze blew, and the scent was gone.
He opened his eyes. “What did...you do?” he asked. There was no sign of the box, the cookies, or the glowing thing, and Aurelie was patiently picking stray twigs and burrs out of her fur again.
She looked up as if she’d only just noticed he was there. “Oh. I fed it.”
“You did [i]WHAT[/i]?!” Aidan bellowed. He stared at her in disbelief as she pattered out of the clearing. And then he looked into the trees again, afraid that the thing would rematerialize and come after them.
“I gave it food. Food is very important, you know. We like food.” Aurelie paused to sniff at him as he were a particularly irritating child, and then she went on her way.
It took a moment longer for her words to sink in. Aidan blinked and looked up from where he’d been examining the dirt. “Wait...what do you mean, ‘we’?” he barked; but Aurelie didn’t hear, or was pretending she didn’t hear, and she was too far away from him already. He watched as the bamboo grove closed around her, and then she was gone.[/color]
[url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2257922][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/cjl26aor1qfa1ho/Hor-divider-640.png[/img][/url]
[color=#B23B07]Aidan finished the rest of his deliveries without incident. He explained that one box had been lost in a confrontation with a strange creature, which he didn’t go into too much detail about. He was expecting some more questions, maybe a disbelieving stare or two, but the dragon processing his deliveries only gave him a knowing look before thanking him for his time.
Aidan meant to ask about what he had encountered, but there were other dragons waiting to get their assignments processed, and he had other things to do besides....He decided to leave it for later. He moved on to other tasks, met up with Laurant and the others again....By the time their stay in the Ashfall Waste was over, it was just one more weird event floating in a sea of weird events—some of which were definitely way weirder—that had happened to the Chief of Security, and it didn’t seem to warrant more than a passing comment from him.
Yet the creature that had shadowed him didn’t forget. To it, he was the first dragon it’d ever encountered, and those cookies were the first taste of earthly food it’d ever had. Those encounters were something new, the start of a great adventure for that strange little thing. Other dragons came to its island to study and discover, and that was perfectly fine—the world of Sornieth was open to it now, too, and it had discoveries of its own to make.
It left the Sunbeam Ruins. Perhaps it would be back...but for now, there were other places it wanted to see. The world was a box of cookies, and it was excited to discover what else lay inside.[/color]
[right][font=Copperplate Gothic Light][color=#005F49][size=5][b]~ The End[/b][/color][/size][/font][/right]
[columns][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2508316/1][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/230703094357295106/479361604928929823/ff18_writing.gif[/img][/url][color=transparent]..[/color][nextcol][color=#9494A9][b]Note:[/b] This story was originally written for and submitted to [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/qnc/2508316/1]The Historian's Collection[/url] writing contest, where it won first prize ("Experiences of the Island" prompt).[/color][/size][/columns]
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it came from the ashfall waste!
written by Disillusionist
2,885 words
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"Go away!" Aidan yelled back at the...thing that was following him. It was always there, and had been since he'd left the Ashfall Waste. As he lumbered ahead, he turned the situation over in his mind....Really, he should have stayed at home. He ground his teeth, remembering the conversation that'd brought him here....
"Dan, you should go have some fun. I mean, it's a festival!" Laurant gave him a playful headbutt. Aidan remained somewhat hesitant; he had been a great traveler in his adolescent years, but that had been quite some time ago, and he had so many responsibilities now. To be quite blunt about it, he rather liked having responsibilities. It was nice to have things to focus on, and the prestige that came with being the Disillusionists' Chief of Security wasn't too bad, either.
He reminded Laurant of this, and she just laughed and shook her head. "Oh, really, I don't think anything's going to crop up that the clan can't handle. Come now, Aidan, there's peace between all Flights, and it's a great opportunity to travel. Why don't you tag along with Carrot-head and me? We've heard of something called an Ember Toss—should be a good chance for Faust to practice his fire-throwing skills. He was abysmal in Fortune's Game during the Crystalline Gala."
Aidan looked morosely at "Carrot-head", her Charge. He was a huge Imperial about twice her length, and he gave Aidan an equally doleful look and mouthed the words "Help me!" Despite himself, the red Guardian couldn't help feeling sorry for him.
"I guess it wouldn't hurt. I haven't been to the Ashfall Waste for quite some time; it'll be interesting to see how it's changed since then. Hmm. Where exactly do you want to go?"
In the Ashfall Waste, Aidan was somewhat dismayed to discover that the Ember Toss involved just that: tossing glowing embers. Laurant looked blankly at him when he expressed his unease. "Well, really, it's an Ember Toss. It is what it says on the tin."
"I thought it was...a game. That didn't involve...tossing...embers..." Aidan's voice shrank as he said it. He sounded incredibly stupid even to himself.
He looked to Faustino for support and realized he was lost: the Imperial was already gazing at the furnace with the determination he normally reserved for divesting annoying customers of their money. He started to lumber forward, absently jostling other dragons aside, and rumbled, "Yes, hello, I would like to throw bits of fire at your furnace, please..."
Aidan shook his head and mumbled something about standing on the sidelines for a while. And to his credit, he did stay there. For a while. Faustino and Laurant got into another argument, though, and he realized he'd be standing there for longer than he'd anticipated. He sighed and began looking around for something to eat and drink. He had his own supplies, but festival foods were always special treats, and he figured he ought to enjoy himself while he was away from home.
He noticed a stall with free cookie samples. Tentatively he picked one up and began to munch....It was delicious, and filled his throat and belly with a soothing heat. The label above the trays said "Cind Mints"...and another, larger banner above it advertised a guild called the Trail Blazers. It looked as though they were recruiting members during the festival and needed more help to explore the new island that'd sprung up off the coast.
"Well, why not?" Aidan thought. It might have been the excitement of the festival, or else the Cind Mint was talking to him, but he began to feel the first tingles of excitement, the anticipation one gets when they're about to embark on a journey. His day-to-day routine in the Disillusionists' clan was peaceful enough, but there was a fine line between "peaceful" and "boring", and he didn't want to slip over it. With the festival ongoing, it was a good opportunity to explore that strange new land—he could take care of himself, and if he couldn't, he figured the guild would help him out.
He stepped beneath the banner and went looking for the dragon in charge. A few hours later, he was good to go. One of his tasks involved delivering boxes of cookies.
“Go away!" Aidan repeated. He looked back, and the thing retreated behind a bush. He could hear it crackling and muttering to itself; its glow grew more visible as the sun crept towards the horizon. It had been dark, too, when he'd first encountered it....
To make Aidan's travels easier, the guild had provided him with maps—the ones of the Ashfall Waste had been updated with the new landmass, and Aidan was intrigued by it. He'd already made some cookie deliveries; his next stop was the Windswept Plateau. On his way there, he would have to pass that new island....It wasn’t really out of his way. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stop over, maybe poke around a bit, if only for curiosity’s sake. "Might even be a useful shortcut," he decided, angling slightly towards the west.
It was early afternoon when Aidan alighted on the shore of the island. But there was so much smoke and heat, he was stuck in perpetual twilight, as if night was approaching. The sky above was a weird, overcast grayish-blue...or orange....It shimmered with so many heatwaves that it was almost impossible to put a single color to it. All around Aidan, plumes of smoke and steam wafted from the ground, which was glassy black, yet seemed to glow with a weird light of its own. Vegetation was scarce, and there was not another animal to be seen.
Aidan turned around uneasily, feeling as if he'd landed in the Underworld. The place looked a lot more intimidating up close, and he began to question why he’d bothered coming over at all. "I should get back to delivering these cookies. But I’m getting hungry....I'll have to eat something first."
The cookies were tempting, but Aidan had been given additional supplies, and he munched on these instead. He made sure to keep an eye on the boxes as he chewed. The ground was uncomfortably warm, and it would be embarrassing for him if they caught fire. He thought he could smell them getting burnt already....
And then he became aware of something else: a dim glow to the north. He squinted, but the distance and distortions were too great; he couldn't guess what it was. "A lava flow? Torches from explorers?" he thought. He swallowed his food and tried to beat the smoke away. It seemed that the light was moving, moving... “Is someone out there?” he called.
The light paused. Aidan expected to hear a shouted reply—and then the light went out. Instantly the Guardian was on high alert, frills raised. He was quite near the sea, and thoughts of wreckers and pirates raced through his mind. Whoever had doused that light was clearly trying to hide from him.
“Time to go.” He scooped up his bags and slung them over one wing. As he did, he noticed the ground was starting to scorch his soles. A cold wave burst along his scales—and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature. Obeying an instinct louder than thought, he jumped backwards, soaring into the air. The smoke closed up below him, but not before he saw the ground suddenly heat to red—and then orange.
With a thundering roar, a plume of fire burst up from the ground. The smoke swirled madly, suddenly choking-hot, and Aidan coughed and turned away. He flew blindly, instinctively heading back to the mainland. He had definitely overstayed his welcome and didn’t want to stick around for what came next.
He did glance back, though. The island was still dimly visible, smoke swirling around its shores again. The flames were nowhere to be seen. “A minor volcanic eruption? Looks like the land’s still unstable. It’s a good thing I got out of there....” And then the ground was below him and he landed, somewhat gingerly, on the shore of the mainland. He squinted at the island a moment longer, waiting to see what would happen next, but nothing moved, and nothing had changed.
Although the ground here was cool, Aidan was still leery. He decided that perhaps it might be better to fly for a while, for safety’s sake. He put the island out of his mind and launched into the air again.
It turned out to be a good idea. He made good time, and by the time the sun touched the western horizon, the Windswept Plateau was in sight. He could camp out in the wilderness near the border, and in the morning he could cross and then start making his deliveries again.
He made camp that night, curled securely around his belongings. His sleep was restful at first—but towards dawn, he woke up, his ear frills tingling. A crackling, whispering noise....He raised his head and prepared to bound upright. As he did, he caught a glimpse of something—a bright spot—darting away behind the trees. Its light faded, but he could still hear it, whispering and muttering, crackling like a dry brush fire.
It kept on following him. He never got a clear look at it; it hovered only at the corners of his vision, darting out of sight no matter how quickly he turned. It was less visible in the day, when sunlight obscured it, but at night Aidan could see its glow, sometimes orange, sometimes red. Like the fires of the Ashfall Waste.
Its voice was omnipresent, too, always crackling and whispering. Sometimes he would be able to get away from it for a while, but it would be back at night, chattering to him even on the edges of his dreams.
Now Aidan was back in the Sunbeam Ruins, and he still hadn’t managed to shake the darned thing off. He had a couple of deliveries to make here, and he needed to pick up some supplies anyway. He was already having misgivings, though, and he slowed down when he saw the lair looming in the distance. The whatever-it-was had followed him from the Ashfall Waste, over the Windswept Plateau, and even island-hopping across the Sea of a Thousand Currents hadn’t convinced it to go away. Other dragons had been able to see and hear it, so Aidan knew he wasn’t crazy at least—but it was beginning to look as though he was cursed.
He stopped at the edge of the trees, where they marked the clan’s territory. He ground his teeth as he thought to himself, “What to do, what to d—”
“Lord Aidan?”
“GAAAAAAHH!” Aidan spun around, almost spraying food packets everywhere. The Tundra who’d spoken hopped nimbly over his lashing tail and then stood there, looking only mildly interested. By the look of things, she had been out gathering; Aidan could see bundles of plants poking out of the slings along her sides.
“Aurelie! What’re you doing out—Wait, no, that’s a stupid question. How long have you been out here?”
Aurelie yawned at him. “Why?” she asked, calmly patting her fur into place. Aidan ignored the question, instead raising his head to look beyond her. It was still light out; he couldn’t tell if the dratblatted thing had followed him all the way here. He’d tried ditching it a half-hour ago by taking a roundabout route past some rivers, but he figured it was only a matter of time till it showed up again.
He motioned Aurelie closer with a swing of his head. “I’m being followed by a thing.”
Her interest was piqued. Her eyes shone visibly, and her ears rose as she gasped, “Wow, really?”
“Sh-sh-shhhh! Aurelie, this is serious! It won’t leave me alone no matter which way I go, and it won’t shut up.” The Chief of Security rubbed the back of his forepaw across his eyes. “It won’t shut up!”
“Yes,” Aurelie answered calmly, “most of them are like that.” She looked dreamily beyond him, into the deeper darkness of the trees. Aidan started to get a slightly sick feeling.
“Can you help me? I don’t want to go into the lair in case it follows me and decides it wants to stay. One creepy phantom is more than enough already, thank you! Could you go get Rahenna? Or that rainmaker—see if they can convince it to leave.”
“There won’t be any need for that.” Aurelie’s voice was slightly muffled. Aidan turned to look at her, and his eyes bulged when he saw that she was rooting in one of his supply bags, already halfway down the hatch. “What are you doing?!”
“Mm, I’m helping you. See?” Aurelie slid back out again with a box of cookies clutched in her paws. Aidan gawped at her. “Wait, no, I’m supposed to deliver those!”
“I’ll pay for it. You want me to help you, right?” Aurelie popped the box open. Aidan recognized the scent of slightly burnt Cind Mints; the aroma wafted heavily into the air.
He recognized something else, too: a familiar chittering crackle. An eye-blink, and there it was, that accursed luminance gliding through the shadows beneath the trees. It flitted from tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping just out of sight. Aidan asked hoarsely, “You can see it, can’t you?”
“Yes, Lord Aidan, I’m not blind. Hey...hello?” Aurelie raised her voice. She raised the box, too, jiggling it so that the cookies inside rustled invitingly.
The grove grew brighter. Aurelie murmured, “Maybe you should step to where you have more room, Lord Aidan.”
The red Guardian growled in reply. But he did as advised, backing away until he was standing out in the open. He looked back quickly; the lair was within sight, and he could roar loud enough to alert his fellows if trouble occurred.
Then he faced forward again and almost choked. In the instant he’d looked away, a bright light had filled the clearing where he’d been standing with Aurelie. The Tundra stayed where she was, waving the box of cookies in the air; but Aidan looked forward just as she flung the box, and it disappeared with a burst of noise into the brightness. There was a whoomph, a puff of hot air, and a burnt smell so pungent Aidan actually closed his eyes and cringed. Then a cool breeze blew, and the scent was gone.
He opened his eyes. “What did...you do?” he asked. There was no sign of the box, the cookies, or the glowing thing, and Aurelie was patiently picking stray twigs and burrs out of her fur again.
She looked up as if she’d only just noticed he was there. “Oh. I fed it.”
“You did WHAT?!” Aidan bellowed. He stared at her in disbelief as she pattered out of the clearing. And then he looked into the trees again, afraid that the thing would rematerialize and come after them.
“I gave it food. Food is very important, you know. We like food.” Aurelie paused to sniff at him as he were a particularly irritating child, and then she went on her way.
It took a moment longer for her words to sink in. Aidan blinked and looked up from where he’d been examining the dirt. “Wait...what do you mean, ‘we’?” he barked; but Aurelie didn’t hear, or was pretending she didn’t hear, and she was too far away from him already. He watched as the bamboo grove closed around her, and then she was gone.
Aidan finished the rest of his deliveries without incident. He explained that one box had been lost in a confrontation with a strange creature, which he didn’t go into too much detail about. He was expecting some more questions, maybe a disbelieving stare or two, but the dragon processing his deliveries only gave him a knowing look before thanking him for his time.
Aidan meant to ask about what he had encountered, but there were other dragons waiting to get their assignments processed, and he had other things to do besides....He decided to leave it for later. He moved on to other tasks, met up with Laurant and the others again....By the time their stay in the Ashfall Waste was over, it was just one more weird event floating in a sea of weird events—some of which were definitely way weirder—that had happened to the Chief of Security, and it didn’t seem to warrant more than a passing comment from him.
Yet the creature that had shadowed him didn’t forget. To it, he was the first dragon it’d ever encountered, and those cookies were the first taste of earthly food it’d ever had. Those encounters were something new, the start of a great adventure for that strange little thing. Other dragons came to its island to study and discover, and that was perfectly fine—the world of Sornieth was open to it now, too, and it had discoveries of its own to make.
It left the Sunbeam Ruins. Perhaps it would be back...but for now, there were other places it wanted to see. The world was a box of cookies, and it was excited to discover what else lay inside.
~ The End
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Note: This story was originally written for and submitted to The Historian's Collection writing contest, where it won first prize ("Experiences of the Island" prompt).
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