FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

ORIGINAL DRAFT - PRE-EDITING

This story was written as part of the 2016 National Novel Writing Month. It was written without edits between 12:01am, November 1st and 11:59pm, November 30th.

This story was written by David J Rust, aka Sylvan Scott, and is in a pre-edited state. The characters, situations, and concepts herein are property of the author and may not be distributed or altered without express, written permission.

Skylands: the Scorpion Spear, Part One - "Saeldrin", Chapter Six: Worlds Beyond Walls

©2016 Sylvan Scott

The Seeker rose on warm winds. Bennet, true to his words, possessed deep understanding of elemental crystals and their arcane energies. The crimson glow of the thaylene's spiderweb-thin runes, carved into the floor in the aft crystal housing cabin, modified the fluyt's fundamental spells. Normally, the crystal did a few things: provide lift to the ship, minimize external winds on-deck, maintain a shell of breathable air, and augment thrust provided by what winds reached the sails. Bennet adjusted the temperature to something closer to that of his native Kellendar. In addition to it now being warmer on-deck, the scribe appeared to have created an enchantment that shaded the brilliant and bright sunlight at the edge of the windshell surrounding the ship. Marek found it both welcome and ostentatious.

The warmth allowed Cyan to shed her furred wraps. Her dress was simple and only covered her upper torso. Her long, serpentine lower portion was kept coiled around her as she watched the ground recede.

Erryth was a cold place, constantly wreathed in fog. It had several known water crystals deep within. They produced, along with some fire crystals a half-mile below the cratered mountain top, geothermal geysers, mudpots, and steaming, sulfurous waterfalls. While toxic, on-high, marshes that grew on the rim of the central lake, thrived on the toxins in the water. Where the six falls landed, more marshes served to strain the water leaving it drinkable within a mile or so.

Gnarled, pine forests grew along the deep river clefts. From the the mountain's base they split and slithered their way outwards to the edge. Some made it all the way. Most did not. Those that did erupted in a spray that fell for several miles before the winds scattered the torrents into mist and fog. The land was forested, rocky, and not the best for agriculture. Only ninety miles wide by eighty, long, it spun slowly in the cloudland atmosphere.

To see his home for the past six years vanish below him, Marek had to steel himself for heading back to the lightlands. The current lightland storm was bigger than any he had ever seen; he wondered if, as it emerged, it would sink to a level with other lands its size or if it would remain, hoisted high by air crystals, amongst tiny lightlands. He shook his head and gripped the fluyt's railing, nervously. The giant island's emerging, rocky form brought back all manner of dark memories.

"Do not worry; feel assured and banish your fears," Cyan proclaimed. "We have the gods--and divine balance, itself--on our side!"

Marek felt like asking how she knew but he guessed it boiled down to having actual godly-given power at her disposal. The question, then, was how long it would remain on their side. He didn't know it for sure, but the motivations of Talvali's gods felt fickle. If nothing else, their overwhelming power and scope, made him feel more akin to an insect than something cared-for and listened-to.

He didn't give voice to those feelings, though. It wouldn't do a thing to help their current situation. Besides, Cyan had begun a quiet prayer in the wake of their departure.

Keerg helmed the ship's wheel while the others completed trimming the sails. They soared, rising faster and faster, up and towards the shell of winds that surrounded the cloudland: the Slip. Shortly, they would encounter the Rush: the Slip's upper half that sheltered the Erryth cloudland from the low pressures and temperatures in the skies, beyond. The Slip's complimentary winds that sped across the rocky underside of Talvali islands was the Break. The Slip, above and below, was the most difficult part of airship travel. Each island was different but, within the cloudlands, each Slip roared with a ferocity somewhere between thirtyfive- and forty-knots. A skyship's protective shell of air helped but nothing could substitute for a captain's experience. While the approaching Slip was only about a half mile thick the transit from one side to another was always a bumpy ride.

But the Break and the Rush were nothing compared to trying to pierce a lightland's stormwall.

Over the centuries--throughout the millennia of skyship piloting--no captain or crew had ever succeeded piercing such a boundary before a dragon storm had started to fade. Even the most rapacious raiders would beggar an attempt until wind speeds ebbed. And that applied to normal storms. The monstrous, swirling storm raging ahead of and above them was hundreds of times larger than than that of a typical emergent lightland. Even without dragons--as they had still seen none--the roiling winds howled with a fearsome threat of absolute devastation. The only slight reassurance Marek felt was that the winds did look to have lessened since the previous day. But it was a negligible source of relief.

Beneath his feet, the ship began to bank and turn. The angle of their ascent, decreased, but their speed remained constant. Marek had removed his boots. His broad paws curled, their claws digging into the wood of the deck. He hoped his outward appearance of casual determination withstood scrutiny as he held the railing with his left hand with a death's grip.

"Thirteen minutes before the Break!" Keerg shouted.

Marek could have sworn the gryphon sounded happy about it. Once they were inside, though, their speed would increase but the risk of damage to The Seeker would rise, dramatically. He had been on a ship, once, that had tried to pierce an island's Slip too close to the leading edge. It had been swept in front of the island and down into the much more unpredictable Rush along the rocky underside. It had taken all of his captain's skills to get them out of that before they could be smashed against the giant, stalactite-like rocks on the island's underside.

He had less confidence in Keerg's and Reita's abilities.

The wolfen guide didn't hear Cyan approach him. He started when her hand came to rest upon his shoulder. Marek caught a subtle glance that he was fairly certain was supposed to be reassuring. She said nothing to him, however, but called out to the ship's threadbare crew, "Remember: I carry with me a splinter of Urdon, itself. That divine presence will shelter us even more than the air crystals embedded in this ship's hull!"

"I wish I could believe that," Marek muttered.

"Your belief isn't required," Cyan returned in a low voice. Louder, though, she began a powerful chant.

Jessai'id were, as far as pure muscle went, the most powerful of the twenty ensouled races. She did not have to find steadiness as turbulence rocked the fluyt. Her enormous, lower body provided a surface area far beyond that of any biped's feet. Her upper portion swayed rhythmically with the pitch and sway of the ship. Her voice, though, never wavered.

Her chant, as they approached the Break, evolved into song. Marek recognized the sibilant s'es of jessaiah, the jessai'id tongue, even though he could not understand the words. He closed his eyes and listened to the intonation. It was deep yet what his mind recognized as feminine. Cyan's song was powerful and steady. Despite his inclination, he felt his spirits begin to calm.

"Three minutes!" Reita shouted.

Marek focussed upon the jessai'id song and set his jaw and clear his mind.

If he was about to die, he hoped his next life would provide him with a better understanding of this strange, magical world.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, he found himself humming along with Cyan. He may not know the words, but he could bring the melody into his heart as the ship began to shake and shudder.

The upper masts began to pierce the Slip and a powerful reverberation shook the vessel. Everything had been battened-down and the elemental crystals powering the ship's protections automatically began to reinforce its structure.

"Here we go!"

The ship lurched, violently, and Cyan's grip on Marek, increased. He didn't open his eyes but he could feel sporadic gusts of wind pierce The Seeker's air shield. It was cold, even with his thick fur, and teased him to look. Perhaps rightly, he did not take the bait. Marek kept his eyes firmly shut. As the howling of wind grew louder and mingled with the sound of straining wood and fully-billowed sails, he increased the volume of his humming. Cyan sang more loudly as well.

"Reita: how's the rudder doing?"

"Stable for the nonce, captain!" she replied to her brother.

"Bennet: see if you can get the air crystals to stabilize us, more! I don't care if it gets colder!"

"As you command," the thaylene shouted back.

Momentarily, the exchange made Marek feel guilty. He had some small experience on board airships. He had traversed numerous Slips in his time. His fear should be minimal. But The Seeker was small and did not have anywhere near the crew it should have. That, alone, was enough to quell any thoughts of offering his aide.

He felt Cyan squeeze his shoulder and realized he had stopped humming. He resumed and even tilted his head back to howl to the skies above him. It was purely animalistic. Wolfen only did it when showing off. It was an ancient hold-over of their ancient, wolven offshoots. Even he, remade a wolfen by storm dragon breath, had the ability and primitive urge. And that urge, that expression of fierce community, erupted from him to compliment Cyan's sung prayer.

Minutes shook as time and ship shuddered. He could no longer tell how much time was passing. The air got colder but the gusts blasting across the deck, diminished in their frequency.

A particularly powerful shock shook the vessel; then, another. By the third, he let his howl lapse and tried to go back to humming. But his throat was raw.

He cracked his eyes to peer at the world and saw thin streaks of wisp-shredded clouds pouring by beyond the contours of the airship's protective bubble. Bennet was perched at the bow, his eyes protected with a pair of smoked-glass goggles. His tail was wrapped around one of the railing's upright posts while, in his hands, he tried to scribble notes on a piece of parchment.

Closer to him, at the aft, Reita held the rudder and worked two improvised winches that helped guide the main mast should Keerg, at the wheel, require assistance.

The ship shook again, more violently, and Marek slammed his eyes shut. This time, when Cyan squeezed his shoulder, he did not resume. He just gritted his teeth and hoped it would be over soon.

Time crawled by, his heart racing as fast as the surrounding winds, but as it progressed he could feel the shaking begin to wane. As minutes seemed to collapse back to their normal span, the shaking ebbed to barely a vibration. He didn't open his eyes, though, until he heard Keerg shout, "All clear! We've cleared the Break and on-heading to the new lightland!"

The first thing he saw was Cyan's calm face.

He hadn't noticed her stop singing.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're very welcome," she replied.

Bennet, as Keerg shouted, ran beneath decks to restore the heat to their air. Beyond the invisible shell surrounding and lifting the ship, the air would be thinner than on any mountaintop and colder than the snow on the highest mountain. Within ten minutes, though, Marek was no longer seeing his breath and felt stable enough to walk to the bow and look over the edge.

Erryth was far below. Beneath it were clouds and darkening levels of sky. It never became fully black but, rather, turned a deep blue from this proximity. Somewhere, in its depths, was the hellish surface of Talvali. Something about it called to him and he smiled at what raiders called "the death urge" to visit the lowest level of the world.

He turned and rejoined the others as Reita relieved an exhausted Keerg from the wheel.

Marek shook his head. "And after all that, you still want to try our luck against the stormwall?"

"It will be neither luck nor up to us," Cyan said. "It simply is what must be done."

He was too exhausted to make a cutting reply. Their speed was already slowing to the best the air crystals could manage with the ship's size and sails. It would take them about three hours to rise to the level of the lightlands and come close to the stormwall's edge. Cyan went below decks for a moment, returning with a woolen shawl. She and the rest of the small crew gathered at the bow to look at the swirling clouds ahead of them.

Strokes of lightning coursed through the grinding walls of grey clouds. Even at their distance, they could hear the dull roar of crumbling stone and the reverberating booms of thunder. A single stroke of energy flared in the distance, making everyone onboard The Seeker, wince.

"Seriously, though," Marek asked, "do you really think we have a chance against something like that?"

It worried him that Cyan did not answer.

After several minutes, Bennet spoke up. "Lady, I do believe you were about to weigh in on the nature of a god's mortality or, to avoid the oxymoron, the ability of a god to die."

Cyan nodded. "Thank you, Bennet; I was." She looked out at the storm for only a moment before turning her attention back to Keerg, Bennet, and Marek. "At its core, the parable of The Last of the Henges, deals with destiny rather than mortality, but if we take it seriously, it also addresses death and the gods."

"I thought you weren't a priest," Marek said.

"I'm not," Cyan agreed. "But I do have a direct source of divine knowledge within." She tapped her forehead.

Marek nodded and gestured for her to continue. If nothing else, it would consume their time before reaching their destination.

"Everyone knows," she began, "how the great gods of the Hexagon created Talvali from the broken dreams that crumbled from their minds in the vast ocean of night that was the world. Everyone knows how they were wakened from their slumber, to find their dreams fallen and smashed by the First World, which was summoned from beyond the void by Tithannoc: the first Storm Dragon. And everyone knows how they battled Tithannoc and forcibly removed the dream pieces she had devoured and, the rest, were forcibly expelled to create the core around which Talvali formed.

"But long after that, after the gods found that their six greatest dreams had become the Prime Ordination and, in return, their dreams gave rise to the devils and demons in the Outer Darkness, they turned to protecting their patchwork creation. And for this goal, they crafted the sun, Mashurotef, and the four night guardians: Briac, Kormoran, Khetef, and Shotef.

"But the guardians were not complete. The most stable of numbers is six and they knew that the great, dread lords of the infernal were five in number. Thus, to truly defend their creation, they needed one who understood darkness, chaos, and corruption in all its forms.

"They turned to the defeated and bound would-be usurper, Tithannoc."

Marek, in fact, didn't know. His own upbringing had been largely free of religion. Others in his native land, though, belonged to dozens of different faiths. It was the one thing that surprised him most about Talvali: that there was a singular pantheon that was adopted all around the world by all the races.

"So, they made a deal with the devil, so to speak," he said.

Cyan looked confused. "I'm not sure what analogy you are trying to craft. There are thousands of devils ruled, in their elemental halls by five lords."

The wolfen sighed. "Never mind; it's just an old expression amongst guides and travellers."

She nodded but her golden eyes held his for a few beats longer than he felt comfortable with. Marek lowered his gaze.

"Well, the point is that Tithannoc was the first dragon: mother of them all. She was also formed of storm clouds and all the chaos of the elements bound into a single being. And while she was less powerful than the other gods, she was more versed in the ways of the infernal underworld. She had summoned and shaped many monsters that would, later, become demons of the Abyssal Shadow."

"Why, then," Keerg asked, "would the Hexagon seek her aid?"

"Or the Prime Ordination, for that matter?" Bennet added.

Cyan shrugged. "No one knows the minds of the gods, to be sure, but it is told that it was Nephillus, god of destruction, who broke ranks with his fellows to seek Tithannoc's advice."

Keerg shook his head. "Lady, I don't mean to be rude but this is not what I was taught."

She glanced at the gryphon and adopted a condescending look. "Many are not taught the truth because their teachers do not know it. Or they know parts of it and make up the rest. As such, there are many tales of how Tithannoc came to be the sixth of the Henges. But this is the tale I was told and, each time I have re-told it, I have felt Urdon approve."

A convenient excuse, Marek thought. One impossible to challenge.

But that was how religion often worked, it seemed to him. Not that it may not be accurrate but that, eventually, proof fell to either someone else's personal experiences or friend-of-a-friend reports. Here, the fact that power seemed to course through every part of Talvali was undisputable. There even were verifiable beings, such as the demons and devils, that granted that power. So he was inclined to believe the presence of powerful beings with a less destructive agenda working to grant mortals power. He still wished, though, he knew why they cared or what the reason was.

Keerg, different from Marek, seemed to accept the derroni's answer at face value.

He nodded for her to continue.

The warmth of circulating air from the elemental crystals that Bennet had modified had become accompanied by an aroma of burning talka from below decks. Marek suspected Cyan had lit some in her incense burners. The scent was neither acrid nor bitter but resembled a juxtaposition of pine and slowly roasting sugar. The air shell surrounding the ship seemed to be capturing most of it and circulating the smoke back around the aerial vessel. It was a comforting sensation and one Marek's intensely acute wolven sense of smell, appreciated.

Cyan continued, weaving her narrative like wisps of smoke that coiled around them. Although both back in his native land and here on Talvali there was the curious reputation of serpents being seductive with their voices, he chalked her impact up to being an experienced and confident speaker. Her voice was smooth and unbroken. She was a masterful storyteller.

According to the derroni, Nephillus believed they had created enough already; that they should tear down elements of what already was and re-construct them into a sixth guardian. Marek found this to be a more charitable view of the god than what he normally encountered.

In most ports and cities, Nephillus was little more than a very powerful boogeyman.

But he appreciated Cyan's perspective on him. It wasn't quite as black-and-white as "good" and "evil" were, where he was from.

As was typical of such "Just So" stories, it fell into three parts. Cyan described how Nephillus had to pierce the veils that hid Tithannoc's prison from view. He also had to overcome a challenge set by his opposite, Versummus, in order to gain entry to the deposed dragon's cell. Finally, making for a mythic "three" items that had to be overcome in order to succeed, he had to convince Tithannoc that there was a reason for her to accept a role amongst the Henges.

"Tithannoc laughed at Nephillus and claimed that no god ever died and, thus, the challenges facing them from the demons and devils were--in the long run--pointless." Cyan spread her arms wide, as if to encompass the entirety of creation. "She told Nephillus that he ought to be more patient; to bide his time, as she was prepared to do, such that he and the others in the Hexagon could eventually turn against and best their infernal foes."

"She admitted, to his face, that she would one day try to kill him again?" Marek asked. "Well, that proves gods can't die, then, doesn't it?"

Cyan looked at him, evenly, but with the tinge of a smile at the base of her serpentine mouth. "You think so?"

"Yeah: if the gods could die, then Nephillus--the one god who is responsible for destruction--would have laid her out, right then and there." He looked at the others and rolled his eyes. "Come on, in all the tales, Nephillus is not exactly known for his even temper."

Bennet nodded at this. "It is true. I have served in several temples that venerate the god of destruction. Even they comment on this." He turned to face Cyan with a flick of his whiskers. "But I would be more than happy to wager that Cyan has an answer for you on that count."

The jessai'id nodded. "Indeed, I do."

Of course you do, Marek thought.

"The fact is that the gods can be ended. And Nephillus proved it to Tithannoc by telling her that the secret to life and death was held in a specific region of the gods' domain called The Great Beyond.

"Keep in mind that, at this point, there were no mortal souls present. The Great Beyond was empty and held only eddies and whorls of spirit stuff: chaotic and unformed. And, in her defense, Tithannoc was skeptical of Nephillus' claim.

"'How can I believe you?' she asked. 'The Great Beyond is the realm all spiritual energy passes through as it comes from the physical, through the godly, before returning to the world.'

"'I will free you,' Nephillus told her. 'I will free you and open a portal. Once there, you will see the answer.'" Cyan looked each one of them in the eye. "And that's what Nephillus did. Without consulting the Hexagon or the Prime Ordination, he broke Tithannoc's bonds and showed her a gateway into the Great Beyond."

Marek nodded. "And she fell for it?"

Cyan nodded with a sly smile. "After a fashion," she agreed. "Tithannoc passed into the Great Beyond and, in truth, found ... nothing. She grew furious and called out to Nephillus to let her out. She raged and threatened him, but received no response. She used all her powers of transformation and chaos, but the uniformity of the Great Beyond was an even more effective prison than the Three Veils and Hexagon Prison. And, despite her threats and rage, for a long time the god of destruction did not answer. She breathed fire and raged but there was nothing she could do. She floated in that void-that-was-not-a-void for a great time before calming herself. She moderated her tone and respectfully asked Nephillus to be set free. Only then did Nephillus respond.

"'I cannot free you,' he said. 'Because only the dead can depart the Great Beyond. Only those things that have been broken down for reincarnation--for self-contemplation before being re-formed with new chances and perspectives upon the living world--can leave. So, if there is no way a divine being such as yourself can die then, by definition, you cannot reincarnate ... you may never leave.'"

Marek furrowed his brow. This was interesting. There had been traditions of gods playing tricks upon mortals but rarely did he remember them playing tricks on each other. Certainly not as part of a creation story.

"So, Tithannoc had to agree that gods could die so that she could be reborn ... into the Henges?" he guessed.

Cyan smiled broadly. "Exactly." The serpentine woman chuckled in a rare but oddly warm display of mirth. "What Tithannoc didn't understand was that she was dealing with the destroyer of all things. By opening herself up to the god's conditions and power, she had put herself in his hands. Nephillus destroyed her world-view and, thus, created death ... even for gods and other divine beings." She paused for emphasis. "Tithannoc came to accept this and, grudgingly, was re-born as the sixth and final guardian of the Henges. And, to this day, that is her role in creation."

Bennet applauded with a nod while, having listened from her perch at the helm, Reita called out her approval.

"Now that's a story I can get behind!" she roared.

Keerg jumped a bit at his sister's enthusiasm. "It still doesn't mean anything more than the newcomer wasn't speaking heresy. Most people don't know that story; it was the first time I ever heard about it!"

Bennet nodded. "Even other priests haven't shared that, that I know of. In all the temples and arcane schools where I have worked, this was new to me."

Marek looked at the crew, curiously. "Well, didn't you ever wonder where everything came from? If you follow these gods, why haven't you asked, before?"

Keerg shrugged. "It wasn't important, before."

Cyan nodded. "Not that you knew of, at any rate." She paused and then looked curiously to the two gryphons. "So, what became of this heretical newcomer?" she asked.

"Oh, they starved him and threw him in a pit until he recanted," Keerg said.

"Suited him right," Reita added, "for spreading his newcomer lies."

Marek stood and took his leave of the others. He did not show his rage--didn't clench his fists or shout back at the two--but removed himself from the conversation with the excuse that he was hungry and wanted to get food.

Below-decks, he spent the next hour fuming. He wasn't hungry at all. He was mostly angry: angry with not only the casual dismissiveness the two gryphons had about the newcomer but also his own failure to call them on their bigotry. But he had seen newcomers forced to "walk the plank" from skyships, before: consigned to the depths of the Deep Blue. For all his pride in how well he had adapted to life, here, it burned him to not be able to talk, openly, about his experiences.

He returned to the deck with a bag of dried jerky to gnaw on while Bennet studied his scrolls and Reita steered their ship closer to the vast storm.

The clouds filled the sky.

He had never been this close to anything so powerful. He shivered despite the warmth.

Quietly, he sought out Cyan. She was still at the bow, but coiled up and watching the clouds slowly spiral by. The vast spears of rock that protruded from the bottom were still being whittled by the winds as the new, gigantic island became whittled away.

"You did not approve," she said. She hadn't turned to face him but he was not surprised at her notice. It was said jessai'id could feel the vibrations of a spider as it descended its web to the forest floor.

"I'm not sure what I believe," he said. "Your story was--"

"Not my story," she interrupted. "Keerg's reaction. And Reita's."

He kept his face steady. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said.

Cyan turned to face the wolfen. "Those two gryphons are uneducated; they are skilled, true, and have experienced the world through their travels. But they have not learned to open themselves up to experiences outside of their world-view. To them, newcomers are a threat ... if an entertaining one."

"I'm not sure why you're telling me this."

"It's simple: you have a ... sympathy for the newcomers. So do I. They're rare but they are not as alien as we would like to believe." She shrugged. "I do not know why the Storm Dragons summon their chunks of world into the lightlands above Talvali. But I do know that those people, rare as they are, are scared and frightened. They did not ask for their fate and, thus, do not deserve such ill-treatment." She smiled and offered Marek her hand. "I, and many others, may find their ideas challenging but respect and even welcome them. No newcomer has anything to fear with me, around."

Marek felt a shudder go through him but, suddenly, his apprehensions about Cyan were gone. It was so sudden, he almost didn't notice. It was as if his concerns had been retroactively removed. He felt a flush of blood come to his cheeks beneath his grey fur.

"You're very ... kind," he said.

"It's the one thing I try to be above all else," Cyan assured him. "Anything less would undermine society, itself."

The newcomer nodded and said no more. He sat beside her and looked out at the storm. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?" he asked.

"And we will succeed," she said. "There has never been a larger island. Most, on lower levels, are mere combinations of smaller lightlands merged and fused by earth crystals. To my knowledge, there has never been a storm of this magnitude. And, if nothing else, a land that large pulled from some alien, outside world is going to have many newcomers in need of comfort and reassurance."

Marek nodded and rested his hand on his employer's shoulder.

They were going through the wall.