aiokalthaChapter 1 From some hundreds of feet above the wispy ecru grass, a single crystalline drop of water fell. It screamed through the silent air, its surroundings blurred and rushing with it, until it collided on the ground with a dull plip. This single event was enough to make the pregnant clouds roll in, darkening to sky into a premature night. As that first brave drop sizzled away into the earth, the others took their cue and fell almost as one, buckets of water sating the thirsty grass. A quivering aspen grove moaned under the weight, and its parched leaves turned up their pastel bellies in a violent dance until the whole foliage rippled and tossed about, shining like glitter. The contours of the distant mountains hazed into indiscernible, wavering lines as wind and rain plagued them. And across the once dry plain came the earthy fresh scent of rebirth, renewal, a mixture of sea salt and pine from the far shores. A single bird cried out, but its voice was heard by no one. At least, no one except its usual audience, a cloud-white dragon battering its weathered wings against a stark, dreary sky. At first glance, he wasn't a particularly impressive specimen. His scales had lost some of their old luster; some had even begun to take on a grey tint. His leathery wings looked worn and beaten, like a piece of cloth having been stretched out of shape one time too many. His claws were gnarled and his fangs fuller than they were once before, and even some of the shark fin spikes along his back had been chipped away or were gone completely. Yet despite his graying face, drooping tail and whiskers, he was a majestic beast, his head still held as high as ever before. His wings, appearing like enlarged appendages stolen from the sockets of a bat, tensed every now and then, as if he was about to launch himself into a vicious aerial battle straight out of the days of yore, and his piercing, intense grey eyes shone with the fire of one who has seen more than has ever been shown to him. The rain did not bother him; in fact, it seemed to almost skirt away from him. He rode the gusts of wind with a grace unheard of, for he had had several millennia to perfect and hone his repertoire. This dragon was Simote, the guardian of the spires of Oryn, and also the only living inhabitant of the city. That is not to say that it was a lonely, desolate place; no, far from it. Simote felt for a zephyr, found one, and veered sharply towards the triple peak of Mount Trinity, peeling off his course in an elegant maneuver that belied is age. All was well here, and it was time he returned to the bastion. He soared through the droplets, allowing them to pelt his scales and cover him in a glistening coat, almost like melted glass. He twisted with the pattern of falling water and clashing air, a symphony of dragon and elements. Once he reached the mountain top, he took one last, powerful beat of his wings and glided smoothly over the sparkling buildings of ancient Oryn. He sailed above scintillating streets and fluttering rain puddles, until finally reaching the Spire of the Moon, where he threw back his wings and alighted on the cold marble, silent as the whispering of a ghost. He peered over the entire serene city, perched on the tallest tower of the bastion. Pulsing blue lights spun in the streets, haloed by the continuous torrents of rain. The pearly dragon shook off his wings, droplets like diamonds scattering everywhere, and slipped inside the window of the spire and out of the elements. Almost a league away, where the hills rose and fell in feeble imitation of the distant mountains, and the brambles and blackberry bushes started to dissolve into a green mass of forest, a man emerged from the trees. "Man," however, was too broad a term. He was slightly taller than any normal human, with a narrow face and pointed teeth, like fangs. His eyelids were kept almost perpetually closed, so that the only visible parts of his eyes were crimson slits framed against pale, flaky skin. From far off they might even be mistaken as bloody slits where someone had gauged out his eyes. He moved with a lazy grace; so fluid were his motions he seemed to be infused with the blood of a slithering snake. When he scrutinized his surroundings, his whole head moved. There was the snapping of a twig, and he flicked his head back in an eerily swift snap, like a deer who just heard an approaching wolf. From behind the intruder arose another, differing in his pretentious manner yet wearing an identical billowing black cloak. His head cocked and eyes opened slightly more than before, the former creature hissed through partly clenched teeth, "there it is." His raspy, trailing voice was enough to make a nearby squirrel scamper frantically up to the high reaches of a tree. A dusky curtain of rain obscured it from sight. The man behind him replied with an impish grin. Through obsidian eyes that matched only his rain-soaked hair, he peered up at the mountain his companion was referring to. He half sighed, half laughed. "Finally…Trinity Peak. Just as the scriptures said." A slick, clear sound was barely audible over the shrieking gales as he pulled out a long, thin stave from its sheath on his back. The entirety of the contraption was quite a sight to behold. It was made as though it had been intended to be a work of art rather than a tool for slaughter. Made from a rich, polished wood and armored in thick wooden rings from end to end, it was quite feasible to say that most victims would die simply from their inability to move out of the weapon's path; they would be too baffled, too transfixed to raise a finger. Around each wooden segment wound a different ornate display of fluid black and silver runes carved into the wood. Its wielder ran his hand almost lovingly down the shaft of the weapon until it rested on the fourth ring. With a firm twist of the wrist, several runes aligned in a new pattern that began to glow like someone set it ablaze. From the tip of the stave a metal point erupted in a shower of light. The snake-man shrieked and shielded his eyes, stumbling backward. The other regarded him coldly, but only for a moment. The man held the weapon in the air above him, its point menacingly tracing the path which they had to travel. When it finally rested on the blurry haze of Oryn, the tall snake-man released a cry of glee, his eyes flicking back and forth dizzyingly, quite recovered from his scare. The black-haired man felt his breath catch in his throat. This is it. Years of poring over those blasted tomes… With an unspoken concurrence, the two set off across the hills at a frightening velocity, blood pulsing anxiously with each step, hearts throbbing in tune with the rain beating on the earth. The wind picked up, causing the trees to quake and the grass to transform into rippling ocean swells. Their cloaks were thrown out behind them as they raced towards the subject of their rapture. To be continued... |