Chapter 3
Hyperborea's ice may have melted away but it wasn't the only island governed by northern winds. On one of such island stood an imposing obsidian mountain its insides rigged with tunnels, some tunnels lead outside to large stony platoons where wooden huts were built, some lead to large caves. Caves where a bunch of extra strong boys and scruffy bearded dwarfs was chopping wood and a squadron of kids light on their feet, on the same time used to carry heavy loads, was commuting through these tunnels to distribute the wood to furnaces and hearths to keep the mountain only mildly cold. It was never warm in there. Caves full of non-fighting dwarves, who were employed as chefs, herders and toolsmiths with their many helpers. All were children from different races and from different origins. Caves with thin blankets where the tamer ones were sleeping. Caves with cages for the newcomers and those who were resisting to obey their new masters.
Not that many resisted for long. Cold, small portions of food and long shifts of hard manual labor broke the spirit of many. When the captives rebelled or tried to escape it ended badly for them. Freezing to death in the snow or getting beaten to death or thrown from the mountaintop as punishment were usually the only life perspectives for those who held their heads too high.
But even in such hostile place you can find persistent souls doing their best to survive. Like Björn, an albino, smuggling food or extra blankets for those younger than himself. It was hard to keep track of time in the mountain but he was about seventeen years old. He wondered where the adults go. Where he will go once the masters decide he's too old to stay and that they have too many workers. If he will be killed off or sold as a slave. Until the day comes he will work hard and hope that one day someone will free them. He was born in a fairytale land but he was never taught proper hero procedures so he doubted that he would be able to save himself not to mention other children.
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Meanwhile the third year students had fun. They were running around, their colourful and funny looking kites were surfing on the gentle East wind gusts. Duchess's white swan kite and Ashlynn's flame colored phoenix competed about the title of the most beautiful design while Lizzie's kite inspired by the playing cards was the work of a clever architect.
Akasha has observed the frolicking in the air, regretting she didn't have time to build one kite for herself, too. On the other hand her other projects were doing fine. The bar Bottle's bottom was running smoothly, Brodo proved to be a practical and dependable bartender. Zelda didn't have to check on him often since he avoided cheap tricks like mixing water with alcohol and such but it was nice to visit him and have a cocktail once in a while. And Raven was happy in her new school. The dark princess didn't talk whether she wants to stay there for good though. Well, she still has a lot of time to make that decision, thought the Quill.
"Zelda, your phone is going to ring," said Maddie cheerfully, which was completely normal for her. Zelda didn't bother to question the Hatter's intuition knowing well that she hears the Narrators who know about stuff that is happening or will happen in the near future and began to rummage in her Storybook of legends backpack, she made it herself after the previous one fell apart. Soon enough her phone really did ring.
"Zelda Tolkien here." "Zelda, come here to Hyperborea to see me and Giles. There is something you have to see and we have to deal with." "I'm on my way," retorted Zelda bewildered about what is happening that it worries Milton so much. OK, he was frequently worried about events and people being on time and if Zelda isn't evading paperwork but that was insignificant stuff compared to the tone of voice used for the serious situations. Yeah, this was beyond pedantic fussing. Some script happened and they will have to go full Quill to kick some troublemaker's butt.
First she got together Badwolf and Baba Yaga to tell them that she suddenly has to go elsewhere: "I have to meet Milton and Giles but I will come as soon as I can. Will you manage the children alone?" Baba Yaga grinned world-wearily: "I have many experiences with taming unruly kids, don't you worry." Zelda smiled and left.
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Mere minutes before Zelda arrived another nature spirit arrived and attacked Shu who was closest to her. It was a female spirit. Actually it was a type of fey – a Sídhe. These reside in the realm of fairies that is its own secluded place but they share some characteristics with wind spirits and other elementals from mythological pantheons.
The Sidhe attacked viciously with long claws, her insect-like wings beating wildly sacrificing stealth for speed. In wasn't a bad move, Shu reacted too slowly to dodge her assault but he soon retaliated with an attack of its own. Varpulis didn't wait for them to finish each other and joined the brawl. Milton and Giles were about to make a move themselves when their adopted daughter appeared.
Zelda put her enchanted gauntlet on her right hand. It was her secondary weapon. The gauntlet activated itself and a large hand the size of a small car appeared, it was chained to the gauntlet, it looked and worked basically as a flail. The red head waited for an opening, then she grabbed the fey in the air with the enlarged version of her hand while the Grimm Brothers were restraining Shu and Varpulis. They summoned roots from the ground to trap the feet of the fighters causing them to trip and fall to the ground.
"What's going on?" asked the youngest Quill with the squirming and screeching wind spirit in her hand-like weapon. "Good thing you're already here," smiled Giles. "As you see the wind spirits are fighting each other." "Unfortunately it's not just these three. All the north winds, from all cultures are fighting about domination over Hyperborea," growled Milton at the two male wind spirits to make them calm down again. Oh Poe, I knew it's going to be a big mess, thought Zelda. Loudly she said: "Boreas died hundred fifty years ago. Why would the winds start fighting about his territory NOW?" "More importantly we should be asking how to stop this disagreement among the wind deities," frowned Giles. Milton looked at his brother: "We can call it a civil war by this point."
Zelda sighed and looked around. All of a sudden she remembered an old poem by a Greek poet Pindar that described this place:
"Never the Muse is absent
from their ways: lyres clash and flutes cry
and everywhere maiden choruses whirling.
Neither disease nor bitter old age is mixed
in their sacred blood; far from labor and battle they live."
Boreas aged and died and now there is a civil war about who's going to rule this land. (And Grimm knows where are the muses. Not here, that's for sure.) Well, done, Pindar, well done. The joyful hymn really nailed the atmosphere of this place. Yanno, there is a nation who uses the verb pindat for talking silly nonsense. I think those people must have known you personally.
"Did Aquilona really turn into a wind," turned Zelda to her fathers. "We received a message from Auster, son of Notos. The anemoi are somehow able to communicate with the wind, well, the northern winds have told him that Aquilona has died and her bodiless spirit has joined the winds. That is all we know. There is a big ink blot about where was Aquilona all this time before she was turned to wind," explained Milton. Ok, so Boreas's daughter is definitely out of the picture now. "You want to suggest finding a suitable heir that other wind spirits would respect so the civil war would stop, is that right?" Giles was right, Zelda nodded. The younger Grimm continued: "That is a passable idea. If we can persuade the anemoi. Years before when we suggested them to appoint one of their own children, that is a nephew or niece of Boreas, they strongly disagreed." "But clearly with all the other pantheons opposing them and with a duty to reign and protect their own territories, they will have to appoint a heir to Boreas as soon as possible. Even if they don't want to," Milton played with his curly moustache and sighed. The anemoi are three: Zephyr, Eurus and Notos, they have offspring of their own. But they are still only from one culture facing the rest of the mythological world and fey elementals.
Author's notes: I copied the poem from Wikipedia. The poem comes from the Tenth Pythian Odeby Pindar. The verb is used by Czechs, it's a word that's used in my native language.
