Thank you for taking the time to read some of my work. I greatly appreciate it, and hope you enjoy.
On a path of gravel, brown birds with speckled breasts hopped to and fro, searching for stray ants or berries that might be sitting around, ripe for the picking. The song of their kin filled the air, mingling with the ever-present roar of the falls just up the hill, and the usual clanking of hammer on anvil from the blacksmith's. Back on the path, the birds scattered and took to their wings, as a small boy barrelled out of a cottage a few yards away in pursuit of his pet Labrador, shouting with laughter as he gave chase. The dog slowed to a sort of trot as it came across the hooves of a horse, sniffing excitedly and tail wagging. The rider atop the horse nodded to the boy as he carried on, towards the stable just down the lane. The dog decided it wanted a run round the block, and the jovial chase continued. Closer to the well at the centre of the village was a little marketplace, and though it was a far cry from the heaving masses of a city, it was lively all the same, trading exotic fruits like pomegranates and mangoes from across the sea, though stocks were beginning to run low so the populace turned to more traditional and local products like leafy vegetables and game. Thatched cottages surrounded the market, looking in some ways like gingerbread houses in their quaint and humble design. Many of these cottages were home to woodcutters and their families, as there was a mill ten minutes from the village where they earned enough gold to support themselves. Being tucked away in mountains and dense forest, this trade was all the village had to offer in terms of work, and those in search of a more exciting life should use the mountain pass and cross the border into Stornway.
Close to the falls was a small rose garden, built up around the Guardian statue. It depicted a robed figure with a crown of flowers and angelic wings spread out from its back, hands clasped and head bowed in prayer. No one knew exactly when the thing had been put there, but it'd seemed a good place so they didn't move it, choosing instead to tend the flora around it and pay homage to their honoured Guardian. What they could never know was that said Guardian was in fact hovering nearby, frowning at the statue and thinking of how it didn't look an awful lot like her.
Where it was difficult to tell what gender or age the angelic figure was supposed to be, the Guardian appeared as a girl of just fifteen with rosy-pale skin and flowing silver-white hair that curled in the latter half of its length, ringlets brushing her waistband. At an earlier age she'd decided to style it, but minimally, and so two slim braids hung just in front of her ears, long enough to touch her collarbone, but not so long that they'd get in the way. Her almond-shaped eyes were pure black at first glance, but if she stood at the right angle according to the sun, her irises would sparkle and shimmer with a full spectrum of colours, from pink to blue to green to yellow to amber and so on. She wore a beige tunic, and on top of that full cingulums around her shoulders and hips, the leather dyed pale red. Her supple boots tapped together as she continued to contemplate the statue's appearance, and the small, feathered wings on her backplane flapped gently to keep her airborne.
As a Celestrian, created by the Almighty to watch over the weak and foolish mortals, she was superior to her charges in every way, not in the least because of her wings, but also because of the slim halo that hovered over the top of her head, creating a permanent ring of shine in her hair, and because of her lifespan – she was in fact many centuries old, but this hadn't driven her mad like it would many mortals. Instead, it bestowed wisdom and thoughtfulness, despite her still being very young and inexperienced.
The only similarities between her and the statue were the wings, truth be told, though the village must've had several Guardians before her, she supposed, so it would make sense that that statue didn't look like anyone. How tedious it would've been carving and placing a new statue for every Guardian. This method worked better for everyone – the Celestrians were spared unnecessary labour, and the mortals could continue their lives undisturbed. As she watched, the Guardian spotted an old lady in a straw hat tending to the garden, dead-heading the roses and pulling up weeds. The bush she was pruning soon looked much neater and tidier, the vibrant pink flowers covered with liquid diamond droplets from the falls. The Guardian smiled. Her favourite place in the village was being well-looked after.
"You have come far, Lyra."
Turning her head, the Guardian looked over at the other angelic individual hovering next to her. He was a bald, grey-eyed, severe-looking Celestrian whose powerful wings were befitting of his superior status, reaching almost to his shins. Unlike his younger companion, his attire was black, blue and red, leather pteruges forming a kind of fauld resting on his hips. Beneath this he wore a tunic and pants, and sturdy boots that, ironically, weren't often used for walking, despite him spending so much time in the Protectorate – the mortal realm. He seemed to prefer flying when not at home.
"I must confess I had my doubts about your promotion to Guardianship in my stead," he continued, folding his arms. "But the inhabitants of Angel Falls continue to live in peace and safety. This is proof of your devotion."
Lyra blinked and bowed her head, but cursed herself for doing so. She'd always been inexplicably shy and averse to compliments, and in recent years her efforts had gone into overcoming these flaws. When she wasn't training or studying, that is. Her apparent humble nature infuriated many she knew, and she was often told that she'd never succeed unless she started expecting more from herself and set the bar higher. For example, if there was a task to be done, she'd perform to the best of her abilities, then inform the task-giver of exactly what happened. No more, no less. If anything was amiss, she'd inform them of it also. Often she'd get a simple thank you – as much as they made her cringe, compliments were nice once in a while. But when she was showered with praise and everyone made her accomplishment into something it really wasn't, she had this instinctive urge to flee, and while having said urge she fidgeted and made an idiot of herself. Frankly, wanting to run away at all made her feel pathetic, never mind the fidgeting. Thus, any free time she spent trying to learn how to be assertive, so it would boost her confidence and therefore be a general improvement. But, in this instance, she slipped back into the old habit of clasping her hands and avoiding eye-contact. The older Celestrian smiled, as if recalling some amusing memory. This was proved by his next words.
"When Apus major bade me 'Aquila, you are to take Lyra as your apprentice', I never imagined I would see you bloom so. You are worthy of you title indeed, Guardian of Angel Falls."
The compliments were like weights on her shoulders, but she tried to not let them be, and at least held her head up to look at her master. However, his steely gaze was no longer upon her, but the mile or so of winding dirt track that led up to the village. Concerned, Lyra peered into the distance to see what was wrong.
Four or five hundred yards from the village, amid a small clump of white oak trees, two figures were emerging from the greenery. One was a girl that appeared to be Lyra's physical age, perhaps younger, in a simple dress and apron, an orange headscarf keeping her dark hair out of her face. Behind her was an old man in a woollen cloak, hobbling along with his walking stick. After a moment or two, he came to a halt, the girl stopping also when she realised he wasn't next to her anymore.
"Don't ever get old, my dear Erinn," he panted. "You don't ever want to get old."
"Oh, Grandpa!" She stayed by him as he assumed a meandering pace. "It's not much further now."
Unbeknownst to them, however, the bushes some distance ahead were rustling frantically, only just concealing some bizarre-looking native creatures. Two were slimes, teardrop-shaped globules that hopped to and fro and enjoyed leading travellers astray. The third was a cruelcumber, aptly named after the vegetable it bore a likeness to, though this creature had a lolling red tongue and beady eyes, and hefted a polearm likely stolen from some unfortunate passer-by, cackling to itself as it lay in wait.
"These wicked creatures must not be allowed to ambush innocent members of your flock, Lyra," said Aquila. "Come. It is time to fulfil our duty as Guardians."
With that, he took off at high speed towards the village gates, Lyra close behind. She kept an eye on Erinn and her grandfather, keen to make sure of their safety. However, she had the more pressing matter of actually defending that safety to attend to, and thus focused on landing correctly, bending her knees so she didn't stumble. Master and apprentice had cornered the miscreants in a copse of trees, blocking any possible route towards the approaching mortals, who remained oblivious to the danger. Almost the moment his feet touched the ground, Aquila drew his sword and hacked at the nearest slime, all in one fluid motion. Blue droplets described a circle as the creature was cut neatly in half, becoming a sapphire puddle. Following her master's lead, Lyra drew her copper gladius and slashed in a diagonal arc. Her slime didn't go down as quickly as the other one, but it was still a relatively easy kill. The cruelcumber, however, took the opportunity to fight back while its attackers were busy, and Lyra winced as the spear found her shoulder and blood leaked down her arm inside her sleeve, creating a long line of brown blotches on her tunic. Ignoring the pain, she swung thrice – left, right, uppercut. The cruelcumber's hide split under her assault, exposing pale green flesh within. It then went limp, dropping the spear. Breathing heavily at the suddenness of the scrap, Lyra tore a strip from the hem of her tunic and used this to crudely bind her shoulder, until such a time that it could be healed. And the garment was ruined anyway, so she might as well make use of it while she could. It seemed that their intervention had been not a moment too soon, as the two mortals rounded the corner less than ten seconds after the ruckus was over.
"Look!" Erinn said, pointing to the village. "We're here!" Her grandfather sighed in relief.
"Ahh…I honestly thought I'd never set eyes on this place again. But here we are at last. Home."
Erinn tilted her head back, grinning.
"Don't be so melodramatic, Grandpa! The village Guardian will have been watching over us the whole time. Nothing bad could ever have happened."
Turning her eyes down, she clasped her hands together and began to pray:
"Benevolent Lyra, thank you for protecting us on our journey."
As she and her grandfather moved on, they remained unaware of the pulsating, sea-green gemstone that had appeared as she prayed, and it now drifted into Lyra's outstretched hands. She stared at it, enthralled as it hovered over her palms.
"Behold," said Aquila from behind her. "Benevolessence. The crystallisation of mortals' gratitude towards we who watch over them. As Celestrians, it is our cardinal duty to offer up this sacred substance unto mighty Yggdrasil, the Great World Tree."
Of course, Lyra knew this. She had learnt it while being tutored for Guardianship, though she still wasn't sure if 'learnt' was too tender a word for the years of studying and memorising she'd had to do as part of the course. As a Celestrian, she had a far greater capacity for retaining information than humans, mostly down to her longer lifespan and therefore better memory. But that didn't mean she couldn't forget things, and Aquila had not been satisfied until he was certain she could recite her teachings, and then again, but backwards this time – those lessons in particular had been a headache. Even so, while learning these things, Lyra had made sure she understood them in perfect fullness, rather than simply repeating them parrot-like to convince others that she was working hard. If she didn't understand her duties, how could she carry them out? In her opinion, understanding was better than knowing. She was distracted from her thoughts as the benevolessence disappeared into her chest, presumably as a method of storage, though she was still a little concerned by the thought of an object passing through her. Aquila, on the other hand, was used to it, and judging by his lack of alarm this was completely normal.
"Come," he said, guiding her once more towards her objective. "Let us return to the Observatory, that you may make your offering."
Nodding, Lyra copied him as he bent down, wings stretched out to their fullest, then shot upwards like an arrow from a bowstring, leaving a choking cloud of dust in his wake. In moments they were several hundred feet up and climbing fast. Lyra could see Angel Falls, her village, already tiny below her. Despite having only watched over it for a few years, less than nothing to a Celestrian, she'd become very attached to the place, and felt unease coiling in her gut as she left the village's inhabitants unguarded. While her duty as a Guardian was to protect a settlement to the end of gathering benevolessence, she felt that, given half the chance, she'd look after these mortals simply to make them happy. Perhaps she was letting her emotions get in the way of her duty. Perhaps she was too soft. Or perhaps she was thinking too much about it and should concentrate on offering up the benevolessence.
Up and up they climbed, eyes fixed on a point in the heavens, neither watching as the Protectorate seemingly became a flat disc that hung suspended from the horizon. Wind ruffled their clothing, though the roar in their ears blocked out any of the resultant flapping sounds, or indeed each other, should they have decided to speak. Then, after a solid ten minutes of ascent, they burst through the cloud layer, and were met with a bowl-like valley of white stretching hundreds of miles in every direction, looking for all the world like sparkling, unblemished snow. The sky was a dome of brilliant blue that seemed to go on forever, somehow making Lyra think of the curious snow-globe ornaments she'd seen in the village shop. Another comparison to the trinkets was the building as the centrepiece, but that was where the similarities ended. While the miniature versions had been cottages and churches, the giant stone structure that they flew towards seemed terribly out of place, as it just hung in the sky with nothing to support it. The whole thing bore some small resemblance to a wedding cake – many levels that became progressively smaller the further up they went. At the very top was a speck of greenery, but Lyra had never been allowed up there so was unsure exactly what it looked like. Even though the Observatory was her home, and she'd thus been living there for centuries, the sheer size of the place was enough to render her speechless, especially as she and Aquila swooped down beneath it to use the star-shaped entrance in the lowest floor. It looked even more imposing at such close range.
Then they were inside, touching down in the main hall. A few Celestrians noted their arrival, but they weren't exactly smothered in gratitude or anything – this was something Lyra had been secretly worried about, but now grinned at the foolish concern. Aquila turned to her.
"You know what you must do next: Report to Apus Major. I have other matters that I must attend to. Excuse me."
And with that, he started off down one of the hallways. A small group of apprentices happened to be passing, and they shied away from him. Well, Aquila was quite notorious for his imposing look and some would say cold and abrupt manner, so this wasn't so surprising. Lyra made a quick trip to the healer – it wouldn't do to present herself to Apus Major in such a state. As her shoulder was cleaned and dressed, she stared about the hall. Like most other rooms in the Observatory, it had a high vaulted ceiling, hexagonally-shaped flagstones beneath her feet, and any sound echoed as if it wanted to be heard for as great a distance as possible. This meant that running around and shouting simply wasn't the done thing, unless you were particularly young and were playing some game, though such activities were only permitted outside. While it wasn't totally silent – there was a light chatter in the air – Lyra felt a bit self-conscious as she climbed the steps towards the great hall on the floor above, as her boots made an uncomfortably loud thudding. It could've been worse though; some of the older Celestrians wore shoes with harder soles, meaning that their footsteps were more often than not an ear-splitting clack-clack-clack that attracted the attention of all and any nearby. Lyra vowed never to wear the heeled shoes, that for some reason were deemed fashionable, for this very reason. Thankfully, stone gave way to carpet, and the great hall stretched out in front of her, the focal point in the room being a throne, upon which sat Apus Major. He was perhaps the oldest Celestrian among them, rumoured to have lived a millennia, though to Lyra he played the part of teacher and master whenever Aquila was off-duty. Apus Major sported a thick, wiry beard that came down to his stomach, though was balding on the top of his head, so among a couple of others he lacked the ring of shine due to a halo. In general, he was kind and thoughtful, always willing to listen and consider all opinions. Gathering her courage, as there were others she'd have to speak in front of, Lyra gave a formal bow.
"Apus Major, sir. I am here to deliver my report."
"Well met, Lyra," he said warmly, rising from his throne to greet her. "I trust your absence has not been so lengthy that you forget your old master!"
Lyra smiled.
"No, sir."
"Your report, child?"
"I have completed my first task as a Guardian and acquired a crystal of benevolessence."
"My congratulations," He nodded approvingly. "You have performed your duties well thus far, albeit under Aquila's watchful gaze. But the time has come for you to spread your own wings. What say you? Are you ready to undertake your duties alone?"
Lyra bit her lip, all too aware that many others were watching. One in particular was getting a kick out of her nervousness, snarking and tilting his head in that overconfident way of his, letting his white hair fall in front of dark grey eyes. His name was Solaris, and he was Lyra's insolent older brother. She honestly didn't understand why he hated her, though she knew that for some reason he blamed her for the death of their father, and the loathing had grown from there. Their father, Orion, had once been the Guardian of a place called Coffinwell, but there was some sort of conflict three hundred years ago that saw him die defending his mortal charges. Lyra had no clear memories of him, as she was at the physical age of four when it happened, though she could feel horribly empty sometimes, not knowing one of the two people that caused her existence. Being forever denied knowing him, in fact. Solaris, however, remembered him very clearly, and often made speeches about how great their father was and if Lyra hadn't come along and ruined everything then he'd still be alive. Again, she didn't understand the logic behind this, sometimes doubting that there was anything logical about her brother at all, but she held out as best she could under his constant assault. Just like with her father, she felt very sad sometimes about her only sibling hating her, but found some small comfort in her duty of helping the mortals. They showed gratitude for her presence, at least. And now that she had become a Guardian, it was time, as Apus Major had said, for her to spread her own wings. That meant having confidence enough to stand up for herself.
"I believe I am ready," she said as calmly and clearly as possible. Her old master chuckled in response.
"I see you are a confident apprentice, Lyra! Very good. The young have confidence where the old have experience."
Solaris bristled in displeasure, his wings twitching back and forth. Lyra ignored him and listened as Apus Major continued.
"And so we come to the next of your duties. As I am sure you are aware, after obtaining a crystal of benevolessence, you must offer it unto mighty Yggdrasil, who shelters us with Her nurturing boughs from atop the Observatory. She will soon bear fruit, at long last. Go now. Do as I have instructed."
Lyra bowed again, then turned and made for the door. She paused as she heard raised voices from the library just off to the side and, making sure that no one was watching, leaned in through the doorway. Within lay two entire walls that seemed to be made of books with a third housing tall windows, and by a table were Aquila and Columba, deep in conversation.
"Indeed?" the auburn-haired Celestrian was saying. "How amusing! I might have known."
"It is no laughing matter," Aquila retorted, putting his hands on the table. "Lyra is but a fledgling. What if something were to happen in the Protectorate?"
From the doorway, Lyra shivered as cold doubt raked her spine. It seemed that her promotion may not have been entirely her master's decision, if he thought her a 'fledgling' still. Whatever happened to 'you are worthy of your title'? Had he just been saying that? Had he been feeding her lies for some reason?
"Do you forget the tragedy of Corvus so soon?" Aquila said, a shadow falling across his eyes. Columba stiffened, then fiddled with an auburn braid, pushing her spectacles further up her nose.
"No, of course not. But we are forbidden to speak of it in the Observatory."
Aquila hung his head, eyes closed and expression pained. Lyra had never seen him like this before, and as with any that was hurt or sad, she felt an instinctive urge to help, to aid. This unfortunately meant that she fidgeted when she tried to keep still, and knocked over a stack of books by the door. Suddenly two pairs of bewildered eyes were on her, and she felt her knees press together.
"Lyra!" Aquila gasped, mortified. "H-How long have you been standing there?"
Unable to think of anything better, Lyra turned and fled, not even bothering to clean up the mess she had made. Far better to pretend nothing had happened, then come back when everything had calmed down. Once again, she made for the door, but swallowed as she saw it close behind someone with white hair. It was very clear what was about to happen. Still, she held her head high and stepped out into the open air. Despite them being several miles from ground level, the wind was gentle enough that any Celestrians walking the paths weren't swept from their feet to tumble to their doom far below. She had always wondered about this, but supposed that maybe it was Yggdrasil protecting them. Great World Tree aside, the Observatory sported ring after ring of gardens and pathways, and this spot in particular just outside the main doors was Lyra's favourite. She looked over at the wooden bench in the shade of a sycamore tree, remembering when she and her mother used to sit there and talk all day long, usually about nothing in particular. But those days were gone now that Lyra was a Guardian, and she had next to no time to herself, what with all the watching she'd have to do. It seemed that this skill was one she needed to improve, as a large feathered wing swooped in from the side and made her stagger.
"You always were a boot-licker," Solaris said blandly, as if this fact bored him no end.
"Leave me alone," Lyra bit out as she picked herself up. "I have no quarrel with you."
"Tell me, dear sister, how it is that I work so hard and expend so much effort, yet it is only you that is recognised. Explain to me why I have never been given a word of thanks for my labour."
They'd had this argument a hundred times – perhaps a thousand, even – and it always ended the same way. Lyra was determined not to bite the dust again, so she simply walked past him towards the steps leading up to Yggdrasil. For her efforts, she was knocked down.
"Flouncing off will not help you. I am waiting for my answer."
"I don't know," she said, defeated. "You never tell me what it is you do – how should I know why you are not praised?"
Solaris was indifferent to her honesty, though he seemed to find joy in his next barrage of insults:
"That's it. Pretend that you are innocent. You are under the illusion that were you to flutter your eyelashes, I would melt like Mother did. You were always the favourite child. Spoiled, arrogant and selfish."
Lyra felt tears welling in her eyes, even though she knew what he was saying couldn't be further from the truth. She had in fact never fluttered her eyelashes in memory, and she was not spoiled – that much she had learned from some of the mortal children she was charged with looking after. Solaris could tell nothing but lies, it seemed, and it would be best for everyone if she ignored him. Thus she focused on the path in front of her, paying no heed to her brother's claptrap. It was difficult, and she was soon in silent tears, but once they'd climbed high enough they reached a point restricted to only a few individuals, and for a time Lyra was one of them. Solaris attempted to lie and say he wished to be present for his sister's first offering of benevolessence, but the guard enforcing this restriction was very firm in his 'no'. Lyra sniffed as she continued to climb – someone who'd seen her grow up, someone who shared the same parents, hated everything about her. It felt like a kick in the gut knowing this. Perhaps the Almighty was testing her resolve to do the right thing. But why would she be tested so? She'd always tried to be a good Celestrian and apprentice by obeying her master and helping the mortals. So why was she suffering like this?
Lyra realised that she had been staring at the ground, lost in thought. Shaking her head, she took in her surroundings. It appeared that she'd climbed to the very top of the Observatory, to that speck of greenery she'd seen on the way up. Pillars, joined at the top, were arranged in a circle around Yggdrasil, which appeared as a mighty oak tree, standing around forty feet above Lyra's head. The emerald-green leaves rustled gently in the breeze, smaller branches swaying, yet it remained as it had been described in books, legends and stories: silent, steadfast and serene. Lyra was awed into speechlessness for a while, unable to get used to the incredible peace that surrounded the World Tree. Then she made her way forward, and the benevolessence passed back out from her chest into her hands. Humbly, she offered it. The pulsating crystal drifted up and up, and when it touched the bark of the main trunk, it disappeared. The blue energy left behind turned gold, and Yggdrasil sparkled as though made of a glittering substance. Then it returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.
"Behold. Is mighty Yggdrasil not truly beautiful?"
Blinking in surprise, Lyra turned to find Aquila watching from the top of the steps she'd recently ascended. He, like her, seemed to be pretending that the episode in the library had never occurred, and for this she was thankful.
"Return to Apus Major, Guardian of Angel Falls," he continued, approaching her. "He will give you further commands."
"Yes, master," she replied, but he stopped her as she made to walk past him.
"Lyra…calling you 'Guardian of Angel Falls' is both impractical and inconvenient. From now on, your full title will only be used for formalities. Do you accept this?"
Lyra smiled a bit, bowing her head.
"Yes, master."
"It is good that you succumb to my will so readily, my apprentice. Now, go. Return to your duties. I will bide here for a while…"
As she descended the steps, Lyra could have sworn he looked up at the heavens in sadness, but she kept her head down and pretended she didn't see anything. It wasn't her place to interfere with the affairs of her master. Besides, she now had a flock that needed guiding, and she'd best return to this duty as soon as possible.