Chapter 1 Version 1.4

It began as a stirring, a disturbance in the upper air lazily crawling down the layers of aether. It meandered slowly, finding its way eventually to the tumultuous lower reaches. It slipped between the mountainous heavily laden clouds as their cargo drug

Chapter 1 (Ch1P1)

“Darkness is not the death of day,

But the birth of Night.”

-Book of Dusk

        Sailors stared, duties forgotten, mouths agape at the spectacle before them. They blinked in disbelief at the cool shimmering mist , her form the image of a goddess dancing across the waves. She drank the briny air, savoring the last moments of free will as the tendrils of binding whispered in the distance.

         It began with the song, always sweet and soft. Then came the chains, shackles of shimmering magic constricting her chest. Next was the the pain, a rape of soul that never healed. The first time there was fury. Every Elemental above the eastern sea had answered her call. The resulting tempest had devastated the coastline for a thousand leagues. She had fought. She had raged. She had lost.

        She rarely resisted anymore, it exhausted her. She could hear it beginning now, the siren's song whispering in the distance. She found it ironic, that something built to imprison sounded so beautiful. She relished the fleeting moments of freedom, letting her mercurial nature take hold. The sea rushed into her, a delicious sensation licking her skin. She relished the salty tang of brine soaked air. She yearned for more time, tickling the foaming white caps and dancing across the churning roil.

        They saw it too, an iridescent thread arcing across the roaring sea. Some cried out words of warning, others simply wept. They watched, ships tillers ignored. The opalescent chord split, transforming. It stretched and wrapped itself around her, leaving tracers across the sailors eyes as they stared unblinking.

        The familiar feeling settled slowly, gently caressing first skin and working inwards. She weathered the molestation with her usual stoicism, retreating into the depths of her mind. The chains took hold, a second skin that fit too tight. It chafed, an maddening itch felt everywhere at once. She thought of her children, watching them play in the morning dew as the pinprick pain of the bonds settled into place and nudged their slave westward.

        The entire flotilla stopped working, the oncoming squall forgotten in their childlike bliss. There she was, a creature of myth walking from the pages unto the sea. No one spoke, a thousand men left without words, their breath stolen in unison. The world stopped, a frozen moment in time. A single sound cut the silence. A cabin boy, too young for such a post. He alone seemed unaffected. He smiled as she danced between the ships, barely stirring the rigging. He mouthed her name, whispering it with a lovers grace. “Lyrael.”

        Thoughts of resistance kindled within, prompting a slight mental struggle that lasted the brief span of a breath. Instantly the tension of the bonds increased. The pain didn't matter. The voice, a child's voice has spoken. If she could only hear it clearly. She must leave her body, hide from the pain, the helplessness. Ignore the oily hands upon her skin, the sensations belonged to another body. Desire coursed, screaming at her to fly west, but it had a foreign flavor. Why go west? Why not go skyward? The air was fresher there.

        The sailors nearest the boy heard it first, a single name carried on the wind. Ripped from their reverie they understood slowly. Half drunk with beauty they staggered back from the railing, grasping both ship and sailor for support. The boy felt fear rise within, an angry knot slithering through his stomach towards his throat, stealing words before they were even spoken. The first mate came to first. He looked quickly from the boy to the Elemental and back, his mind turning over once or twice before he too said her name. The boson was next, his deep baritone carrying across the fore deck, but it was the captains voice that truly carried. He had seen her once before, and he knew her story well. A voice of command the traversed roaring sea with ease he bellowed her name across the waves.

        Rage overpowered reason, calling power that surged to the breaking point. She was Lyrael, goddess of air, and she would not be chained. In a howl of fury she rent all bondage by sheer ferocity, fleeing to the freedom of the open sea.

        Lyrael's skin reveled in the warmth of the setting sun, screaming over the golden waves burning a path to freedom, like shimmering angels illuminating her exodus. The seas parted, lending aid to the desperate escape, cutting a deep crest in the creatures' wake and scattering nearby vessels into the abyss. The dying wails of man were lost in exultation as the winds were bent to her aid, pushing the threshold between ability and reason.

        Burning chords lashed, joy transformed into agony. What was once a gentle suggestion became blunt force trauma. Cables of blinding pain consumed all senses and wrenched the wayward servant screaming from its beloved sea. The Elemental was beaten and bludgeoned into unquestioning submission. The will to escape evaporating as her mind surrendered to inevitability.

        Instantly the pain vanished in response to acquiescence. Gulping salt soaked air she relished the ability to breathe again. Drugged and lethargic, sentience barely remained. The shimmering threads of magic were now span thick cables, allowing just enough space for her beleaguered torso to respire. She smiled sardonically, at least feeling was returning. That was something, better to feel the pain than be consumed by it.

        After a second deep pull of brine soaked air the chained child of air wept a pleading song unto the heavens. The haunting notes called for aid, knowing the desperate flight had spent too much energy and the task would now require more strength than her battered body could channel.

        The brief respite dissipated all too soon as the heavy whisper within increased steadily. With a reluctant sigh the beleaguered servant drifted westward, mourning the death of day as the sun was inexorably extinguished by the chill waters of the eastern sea. Opalescent sapphires floating in the mist, her eyes wished they could weep as they watched the glorious warmth of day fade, like the final embers of a guttering flame. The last tendrils of light descended into oblivion as they smoldered brightly upon the horizon. They too fought inevitability whilst the sun wept fire at their passing and was consumed by the sea.

        A final thought of resistance fluttered across her haze of consciousness. It was annihilated instantly as the well known demands of the compulsion reasserted themselves. Instinct suggested a gathering of fortitude for the arduous chore to come.

        Black pinpricks rapidly grew from sea to sky as the silhouette of Ravens' Bay appeared. The great towers that marked the gateway to the east stood as both sentry and salvation to the few surviving ships fleeing the roaring maelstrom answering Lyrael's call. The placid calm of the bay erupted into madness as the winds reached gale force, sending mammoth waves crashing against the unyielding sea walls. She paid no heed to the few vessels foolish enough to be caught in the torrent, battering them against the walls and bashing them together like matchsticks, as indifferent to the sailors cries as to the their deaths.

        The creature swallowed their drowning screams and roared through the stone causeways of Draenoch, barreling relentlessly against the well battened storm shudders, surrendering all will to the tempest with a haunting wail. The staunch city endured nature's rage. The well ordered grid of streets were empty. Black clouds released their cargo. The water rose in the streets and flowed into well worn culverts, the downpour raging into large cisterns that quickly overflowed.

        The rain lashed against the black cliffs of Sharr. Lyrael's strength wained, but her children had answered her call. With their combined might the rain traveled skyward, against the obsidian walls soaring before them. Together they transcended from chaotic gusts into focus incarnate. Like a bowstring pulled taught they drew together both wind and water and climbed unto the heavens. Finally they found the icy peaks that towered above the unswerving port of Draenoch. From this height only the massive towers guarding the seawall were visible as black pinpricks beneath the raging squall.

        The frozen winds of Valmora's breath roared defiance at the ascent of the storm into its domain. The gale raced across the ebony crags and plunged downward in an avalanche of air. The wastelands below rapidly increased in size as the great highway began to take shape.

        Lyrael hit the ground with a rush, allowing the momentum to scatter her form. With an unearthly crack a thousand sails spread canvas as one, each black shroud attached to a large stone contraption. The scrape of stone on stone crunched like boulders tumbling down a mountainside, the rumbling gaining in volume as the beasts gained velocity. Each creature was a small mountain on its own. The ground surrounding the road sinking noticeably as the wagons approached.

        She hated the beasts, they were why she was stuck this close to the infernal ground, surrounded by broken volcanic stone and ash. Even the air here stank, acrid and gritty in her mouth. She struggled to move the heavy b******s, roaring at her children to push harder, she could feel every inch of the obsidian brutes. As smooth as glass with no hard edges they belonged in the depths of the ocean.

        The work was hard,long, and unrewarding. Her mind had only room for two things, both were black. Her least favorite color. Triangular and stretched across their vessels girth they resembled enormous cones, sliced in half and spread lengthwise. She didn't really see them though, they were within her and they were more felt than seen.

        The damnable canvas aside, the road she could see. A river of twisting night, the smooth obsidian only visible when the moonlight chanced to escape the clouds, dashing a quicksilver glimmer of its presence across the blackened and broken landscape. The high arcing cliffs of Sharr the only break in the desolation.

        The smell of them reached her first, beginning as a slight warming with a hint of decay. Bracing against nausea, the fetid stench soaked into her. Nargs, they weren't visible, but they didn't need to be. Their aroma identified them instantly. While Lyrael detested the wretched creations, their smell had become a welcome one over the last thousand years, her destination neared.

        Bits of tall grass and murky pools began to increase in frequency. Lyrael felt anticipation mounting as scrub grass transformed into warped brush and eventually gnarled trees. The air was rancid and practically liquid as she forced her burden into the bog.         Condensation formed quickly on the wagons. The chilly sea air created eerie cascades as it warmed. Like quicksilver the ghostly procession bled water across the highway, setting it aflame with iridescent fire as the moon ignited the glinting droplets left in its' wake.

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        Utterly exhausted, she felt sentience begin to slip. Her children were gone and she clung to fractured sanity. The swamp had finally dissipated back into scrub grass and rubble. The road now cut an arrows flight to the city.

        It began as a smudge, a single black smear under the moon. Next came the walls, an opalescent flash that slowly stretched into an elongated line. But it wasn't the walls the caught the moonlight, instead it was oddly glittering bluish black blades on top. Like the depths of sapphire eyes torn asunder they resembled an iris cut and lain across the earth, shimmering sadly in the starlight as if they missed the eyes they once illuminated.

        The hated city called to her. The blackened walls curved outward eerily in a massive v, arcing towards the road on either side, seemingly inviting entry rather than prohibiting. She was close, so close. She could see Beloch's Cairn now, standing imposingly behind the walls, providing more deterrence than any fortification ever could. Despite the queer beauty of the city, Lyrael's attention was roughly redirected earthward as a shadow loomed over the wind haulers.

        The distance to the city had evaporated, allowing the true size of the outer walls to become apparent. Over two hundred spans high they cast a colossal shadow. Seamless and gently curving she decided the earth must have bled them out, a monumental scab to staunch some great wound.

        Lyrael saw her then, carved in the semblance of a bird with wings permanently affixed in the down stroke of flight. She fit seamlessly into the walls of the tunnel, arcing beneath them with no noticeable breaks in the stone, as if the creature was attempting to escape from the walls. A stone gate fully four spans thick stood open for their entry and the portcullis was raised in perfect unison with their arrival, each crossbar the breadth of a horse.

        The binding chafed miserably and her consciousness was slipping again. Hope fluttered across her fading senses, the hold was weakening. With redoubled effort she strained and the stone caravan groaned in response. Finally, she entered the tunnel, closing her eyes and ignoring the disconcerting lack of sky. She passed a second portcullis and entered Valenoch. The last thread of binding snapped. With a howl of elation she broke free and screamed her ascent home unto the heavens.

        Still cruising along under now slack sails the curious caravan slowly spent its remaining momentum plodding across a massive square and subsequently coasting into various gigantic box like buildings situated in orderly rows alongside the plaza. Within moments of their arrival a veritable army swarmed upon the wind haulers like ants on a carcass. Out came food stuffs of every sort. From one came fruits and vegetables, another nuts and dried meats. From the others came live stock complaining loudly as they were transported via more mundane methods to the slaughterhouse. Still more goods flowed forth unendingly until the first tremulous hints of dawn touched the city. The final goods were removed and other more refined products were inserted. Works of skill and technology replaced the bounty of the harvest. Bundles of wheat were exchanged for blades and armor. Into other wagons went jewelry, machinery and textiles of the highest quality. Finally, as full dawn broke upon the horizon, the wagons' brakes were released and they slowly reversed under the weight of their own girth. Their expert drivers pivoted them eastward to begin their long return to the sea, trundling now under gravities pull. First at a crawl and then with increasing velocity they rolled down the gentle incline and began their return to Draenoch.

 

 

 

Author's Note

new version updated 3/29