Chapter III
The sea was clam that day, the three triremes making good speed on their way from a small pirate incident. For a change they had been human. Now about twenty men were chained up at the deck, physically in a rather bad shape, but not from battle, the wounds they had suffered having already been treated. Malnourishment had taken its toll on them, and their partly torn and dirty clothing made them look only more pitiable. Kozmotis Pitchiner had shown an unusual amount mercy and compassion compared to most of his captains, when he'd kept so many alive, had their wounds dressed and given them to eat. Not everyone found this commendable. Alexis Capricorn had only recently joined the High General, a rather hot-headed young man, barely out of his teens; his parents were hoping the time on a warship would teach him respect and calm his character. Kozmotis was already considering his transfer to another ship. He wasn't quite sure yet, what captain deserved it however.
"My Lord, should we really waste our rations on this scum? They're not even Atlantian."
The boy backed off a little, when Kozmotis shot him a freezing glare with his almost hawk -like, light brown, eyes. "They're human that is all the reason we need. And you may want to watch what you're saying, officer."
"I just meant…, because they captured a ship and were about to attack a village." His voice gave out.
"Come with me." Lord Pitch ordered, his voice making clear he'd allow no discussion.
Capricorn followed the General to the prisoners, where they stopped next to a man, who was likely in his early twenties, his expression betraying his anxiousness. When the two officers in armor approached, he flinched, pulling his feet and legs closer to himself. Kozmotis kneeled to get on eye level. "Why have you taken to piracy?" He asked plainly.
The man was briefly confused by the question, even more by the fact that Kozmotis had spoken in his own language. "My village as suffered much in recent years. Once we were a concourse for merchants, and we counted many fishermen, who would feed our people." He shivered noticeably. "But since those shadows haunt the seas, hardly anyone dares setting sails."
"We're you afraid when you attacked our merchant, and when you came for our village?" The pirate nodded, silently, and Kozmotis got back on his feet, turning back to Capricorn.
"That hardly excuses his actions…"
"No, it doesn't, and he will be punished, spending years in prison, but we must carefully step on the fine line between justice and revenge. What he and the rest of his crew did was not motivated by pure malice but desperation. If we claim to be just, we must act accordingly, or become what we fight…or lower ourselves to its level." Capricorn didn't seem to dare to reply. "And as long as I'm High General, you will treat them with dignity, are we clear?"
"Yes, Milord." He stammered. He couldn't see that some of the crew, who'd been listening into their conversation, grinned with a certain gratification behind his back. They all had been serving under Lord Pitchiner for years, and knew his notions; even before becoming High General, he'd been known for his mercy towards his enemies. Where other captains had executed and maltreated their prisoners of war, Lord Pitchiner had treated them humanly. To his crew he remained kind and respectful, being always among the first in battle, and had their wounds treated before his own. He had their loyalty and trust, and they would have followed him anywhere.
Kozmotis left Capricorn standing by the prisoners, and moments later another officer, Nikomedes Libra, approached him instead. "Got into trouble again?" He asked, after having wiped off the grin from his face.
"Gloat all you want, I'll never grow that soft." Capricorn snapped back.
The other young man shrugged, almost indifferent. "Suit yourself, but if you don't watch it the first thing that'll happen, once you have your own ship to command, is mutiny."
There was a small pause. "Leave me be."
"Gladly." With that officer Libra left him again, and returned to helping the crew making the last repairs on the slightly damaged trireme.
It happened on their way from the prison back to Atlantis. The sun had set, leaving only a small red stripe along the horizon when the black ship appeared. During the day, one ship could have been easily dealt with, but without the sunlight, the shadows were stronger, more dangerous. From the moment of its sighting, the crew lit up every lamp they could find, and soon, all three triremes were illuminated by warm light from dozens of oil lamps, torches and candles. Even in the darkness of night, the Dream Pirates' ship was darker still, and it was heading straight for them.
Kozmotis checked the fit of his amour plates once more, readjusting the shoulder guards, which almost looked like golden, overlapping leaves. In the course of the war, the smiths had crafted an entirely new armour, including of more metal. The chest guard was now made of several, golden interlocking plates, heavier than leather but he remained just as maneuverable. The guards of his legs and forearms were golden as well, the Atlantian tree engraved upon them. The basic cloth underneath remained black, yet between them and the armor he wore a long white coat with a high collar, bordered again with gold. Whoever had designed his attire, had taken his title as Lord of the Golden Fleet quite to heart, making Kozmotis feel always overdressed. Only a sash, which secured his scimitar, was still green.
Libra and Capricorn joined him, both in full leather armour, now also including some golden ornaments, and blue cloaks that were still somewhat torn from the latest battle. The latter was holding a torch in his right hand, coloring his suddenly paled face yellow; this would be his first encounter with the shadows, and fear was written plainly in his expression. Libra on the other hand was nervous, like everyone else on the triremes, but much calmer, having been fighting this war for two years now, as Kozmotis' first officer on board this ship.
Swords and axes were drawn everywhere on the ship, eyes as much on the ship as they were on the shadows on board their own. "Many times now have we faced this enemy, and every time we've beaten them. Tonight will be no different." Lord Pitch spoke, and Libra drew his saber with a grim, humorless smile.
Suddenly there was a scream from the deck, and all turned, expecting to see the Dream Pirates. Instead something else grew out of the mast's shadow. Like tentacles, the shadows grew snaking and wavering, up the mast, corrupting the pure white sails. For minutes no one dared approach it, until it stood at the ship's center like a black tree, the surface constantly shifting as if it was made of liquid tar, and living smoke. Then everywhere upon it, pairs of cold glowing, white eyes appeared, and there was that blood freezing hissing. The black branches continued to move, to search, as the tree grew broader, and even more branches emerged, the smallest twigs like long, slender claws. Once they reached a soldier, he hacked it right off, the twig retreating a bit, before suddenly it split into two. In less than a second, they darted forward, grabbing the man. He screamed and hacked, a few others trying to help, but for every branch the cut off, two or more took its place, until they covered him completely. A fanged hole appeared in the tree, like the gorge of a monster, twisted into a cruel grin.
While this happened, Kozmotis stormed towards the shadows, Libra close behind him. "Snap out of it, all of you!" He commanded, his voice loud and powerful for all to hear. "Cut it down!" Above him, the branches were slowly creating a roof, threatening to trap them all, enclose them in darkness. Now the branches came for him, and he cut them to pieces, pressing onward, before they could grew back. The soldiers standing closest to the black tree were getting caught one by one, their screams soon muffled by the shadows. Kozmotis could see the wizard trapped in his own protective sphere of light, trying to old of the numerous tentacles forcing their way through. A handful eventually managed through, and the sphere collapsed. Four tentacles grabbed him, each holding on to a limb, and then they pulled, each into a different direction…
All of the sudden, it became a lot darker, as the shadows killed most of the lights onboard the trireme, until everything was cast in dim, orange twilight. Then the shadows released their victims, the lifeless body hitting the ground, weapons still clenched in their fists. All over the ship the tentacles retreated, and instead proceeding to create a wall of all-enclosing darkness around them. The soldiers formed circles, waiting for the next assault. "Cut that tree down!" Lord Pitch ordered, approaching it himself, eyes warily at the shadows to his side.
They barely noticed how the men they'd thought dead began to move again, rose, staggering a bit, but they all got on their feed. It eased them all only briefly. At first it looked as if they were going to join the circles, when their blades slaughtered their previous comrades, and the silence was broken by screams of surprise and pain. Kozmotis watched in horror, briefly paralyzed like everyone else. Just in time he regained his wits, when one of his men attacked him, madness and murder in his pale eyes. Shock turned into rage, and swiftly Kozmotis had deflected the sword, and stabbed right through the man's chest. The body collapsed like a puppet without strings, and from it dark smoke emerged that faded in the air. The Dream Pirates possessed his men! Disgusted and appalled Kozmotis glanced at the blood on his blade.
Pitchiner looked about him, to see that at this point half his soldiers were either dead or turned. Most seemed to find it difficult to fight their former allies and friends, and all the while, the wall of shadowy branches enclosed them more and more. Shapes appeared between them, Fearlings, watching the battle unfold, climbing along the branches like lizards. Officer Capricorn couldn't take it any longer; with his saber he frantically hacked at the branches, creating an opening through which he jumped off the ship. Not few looked like they wanted to follow him.
Before Kozmotis could give any orders, a pair of demoniacs attacked him. While he managed to defeat one, he was pushed back against the railing. Black claws grabbed him by the shoulders, and he flinched, as they went into his flesh, right beneath his shoulder guards. He delivered a strong kick, knocking the second demoniac off his feet. Kozmotis swung his scimitar over his head, dispersing the Fearling. Tonight taking prisoners was not an option. The demoniac was back, and Pitchiner grabbed him by the wrist of the hand holding the sword, led it past him as he drove his own into the man.
Even as he fought, more soldiers were taken by the shadows, emerging shortly after as their puppets. The Atlantians were isolated from each other; Kozmotis could see Libra fighting only a few meters away from him against a handful of possessed crew members, a single soldier by his side. Keeping his distance from the black wall that was now completely surrounding the ship, Kozmotis joined the battle, doing his best to ignore that his enemies now wore the faces of his crew. It had been so much simpler, when they were demonic creatures of darkness. Nonetheless he fought, each strike spraying warm blood upon him, until he could taste the sweet metallic liquid even on his lips.
His sword went through one's abdomen, cutting it wide open, as he dodged a slash going for his throat, kicked said attacker's legs away, before stabbing him through the back. In less than a second his sword was up again to meet an ax, catching it beneath the blade. Using his own like a lever, he tore it out of the man's hand, and delivered a harsh blow with his elbow against the ribcage. The demoniac gasped for air, but Kozmotis finished him off.
There was an audible cracking from the ship, and rips appeared in the decks planks. The shadows were trying to break it apart. The vessel shook and the last of the oil lamps were thrown to the floor, the burning oil igniting the wood where they hit. The shadows briefly hissed at the increased light, and quickly killed the smallest fires, casting everything back into twilight. Only three fires across the ship remained burning. The shadows along the mast began to move again, and except for the cracking fire, silence fell over the ship.
Officer Libra, had suffered a deep gash in his left leg, and was supporting the barely conscious last surviving soldier. He was covered in blood, his expression twisted by pain, as he came to his general. "Lord Pitch, we need to get off the trireme. It's going to break apart, or burn to ashes…if that thing isn't killing us first.
The central shadow no longer look like a nightmarish tree, but detached itself from the mast. The main branches turned into arm like structures, a demonic head emerged at the top, with two pairs of sharp eyes, and even more along its body. Dark spike grew out of its broad shoulder and along the spine, smaller thorns covering its entire surface. Lines of shadowy smoke rose from it, moving through the air and over the ship like feelers. It towered over the three remaining Atlantians, black fangs larger than a man's arm.
"Get off the ship, now." Lord Pitch said, eyes fixed on the shadow. "I'll stay; even if I can't stop it, I can by you and the others some time."
Libra stared at him, speechless, breathing heavy with the soldier he was supporting on his back, but then slowly nodded. With his sword he cut an opening into the wall of darkness, and threw himself into the cold ocean water, just escaping before the shadows closed behind his feet.
Kozmotis Pitchiner stood alone on the deck, the shadows surrounding him, a towering monster in front, and many smaller closing in from the sides. All of his soldiers, loyal men of Atlantis laid dead upon the wooden planks. Their blood was still dripping from his sword still as well as his armour, and he breathed heavily, as the smell of burning oil and wood reached his nose. "Are you afraid, General?" The voices hissed, the giant monster lowering its massive head to him, four white eyes, glaring at him, hungrily. He didn't respond, just readjusted the grip on his sword.
"We promise that the last thing you ever feel will be fear. Die now, submit to us, knowing that Atlantis shall soon burn. We have shown it to you already." The nightmares, yes, he knew them well, they had returned often in the past years.
"Atlantis will not fall." Kozmotis spat, a little of his own blood now running over his lip. "Come now, shadows, and we'll finish this."
Three Fearlings attacked him at once, and swiftly his blade cut through the first, he stepped back to evade the second, while stabbing the one coming up behind him. His blade returned for the second, before it could change direction. Tonight was truly not a night for prisoners. More and more came, rushing to him from the shadows, merging out of that unholy monster, and Kozmotis lashed out to all sides, cutting and slashing anything in range of his blade. He ignored the black blades and claws, which cut through his armour and skin, his arms, legs and back soon covered with injuries, thankfully most superficial.
They tried to engulf him, slender but powerful black arms wrapping around him, cold and mercilessly. In this hopeless moment he thought of something foolish. It wasn't so much a though as an instinct, and gathering all the strength he had left, he charged at the towering monstrosity, his blade cutting silver through the darkness. He ignored the pain from dozens of wound all across his body, he ignored his heartbeat, racing in his ears. It was like he was in a trance; nothing existed but his sword and the shadow in front of him.
The General raised his sword, and with all his might, stabbed into the concentrated darkness. He gritted his teeth, reddened by blood, the countless hands and claws, grabbing at him from behind, trying to pull him away. He would not allow them to win, he couldn't allow it. They depended on him; Amina, Emily, both probably sleeping soundly at home, safe because he was here. Kozmotis Pitchiner drove his weapon deeper, until his hands were submerged in the shadowy mass, and with a dried up throat, he shouted defiantly. "I WILL NOT SUBMIT!"
It was not the lack of fear that destroyed them; it was his bravery, channeled by his enchanted blade, his willingness to stand against them despite his fear, and to sacrifice it all, for in the end that is the true opposite of dread.
…
They found him unconscious, lying on a piece of swimming wood, one of the few pieces left of the once greatest ship of the Golden Fleet. The Dream Pirates had disappeared without a trace, as they always did. Libra himself got him out of the water and brought him back to the remaining two triremes. The General had lost plenty of blood, and suffered many wounds, and as relived as the remaining Atlantians were to see him alive, their hopes were dimmed by his grave conditions. Another sage and a healer of the priesthood took care of him, but he remained unconscious for two days straight. When he awoke, he was weak, and still in pain…and tired. His sleep had been restless, at least for his mind, though he never spoke of it. Only days later he would share his thoughts with Amina, for she could always tell when he was troubled, and knew best how to comfort him. Kozmotis thought himself most fortunate to have her by his side. To have been forced to kill his own men, and then to accept death left his thoughts racing, and tore at his soul. For days he wouldn't even touch his sword or even look at it, much less wear it as usual at his side. It took several days for him to get back into shape, the process greatly accelerated by magic. Almost two weeks after the battle, he was physically back to his normal self, when they finally reached Atlantis.
A long staircase ran alongside the Pitchiner mansion, in its shape reminiscent of a drawn-out '2'. It let from the atrium in the first floor down into the garden, specifically to a circular platform, the terrace, surrounded by a pound. Tree branches reached over the water, and as it was spring, the fresh, green leaves were accompanied by blossoms, pale pink and yellow among the most common. Kozmotis was walking down the staircase, after having exchanged his chest guard, for a light, sleeveless robe over his black shirt. His gaze went searching, and he smiled, when it reached the platform. A young girl with wavy hair, night black like himself, stood there, hands reaching for the butterflies, flying between the trees. She wore a white dress, with a green cloth as a belt, fist already stained by brown and green stripes; she'd probably climbing trees again.
He had almost reached her, when she turned around, a wide smile spreading instantly on her face, until it went from ear to ear. "Father!" She exclaimed, beaming with joy, and running to him.
Returning her smile he spread his arms. "Come here." Kozmotis caught her, lifted her up, and spun them around once, making her giggle, before her embraced her, her arms around his neck. For a second or so, he felt like never wanting to let her go again. "I missed you, sweetie." He told her, an understatement to say the least, one hand on her back, while letting her sit on his other arm. "How have you been?"
"Thymos offered to teach me how to ride, but mother forbad it." There was disappointment in her voice.
"A Pitchiner, who doesn't know how to ride a horse?" He asked her with a playful frown. "We can't have that. How would you like it, if I taught you myself tomorrow?"
"Oh yes, please, father!" She begged him.
Kozmotis laughed, and put her down again. "Now what were you doing down here?"
"The butterflies; I wanted to see if I could catch one, but they always elude me."
"You must let them come to you." He told her, and sat down on the ground. Admittedly he was somewhat exhausted from the latest journey, and he desperately wanted his mind away from the memories of his most recent encounter with the Dream Pirates. He leaned back a bit, holding himself up with both arms, hands on the ground just behind him. Aemilia sat down in his lap, leaning against his chest, and he told her to hold her hands out, palms showing. It wasn't even a minute when the first bright orange butterfly began to circle above her hands. Kozmotis tilted his head ever so slightly down, his chin almost touching the top of her head, as both had their eyes fixed on the little insect. It landed briefly on one of Aemilia's finger, flapped with his wings a few times, before taking to the air again. Smiling she turned her head around to her father, just as a voice reached them from the stairway.
"May I join you?" Amina asked softly.
"Mommy."
Smiling gently, Kozmotis offered his wife a hand, and guided her to sit next to them. Once she sat, they kissed lovingly, something he had missed in his weeks out on the sea. Aemilia, seeing this, narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out as if nauseated, only to be pinched playfully by her mother, who smiled cheekily against Kozmotis' lips. He couldn't help but chuckle a little; it was so good to be home again.
…
Amina walked into their bedchamber that night, after having brought Aemilia into bed. She stopped in the doorway, and looked worried at her husband. He stood with his back to her, mostly undressed but still in trousers and boots. In his hands he was holding the blade once given to him the day he'd been made High General. He pulled it halfway out of its scabbard, just so far that he could read the words upon the blade. His body language was tense, and Amina could see the muscles along his back contract. Very silently, she closed the door behind her, and walked over to him. Despite hearing her, he didn't turn around.
"What happened out there?" Amina asked worriedness in her voice. "I dared not asked while Emily was still up."
He let the blade glide back into the scabbard. "On our way home we encountered Dream Pirates." Came his response after a few moments of silence. "They attacked us at night, as they usually do these days. We prepared and waited for their attack, it…it was not like anything I've ever seen, or expected." She ran a supportive have over his right arm up to his shoulder. "The shadows rose from out of our midst and engulfed the ship. Not Fearlings and Dream Pirates, but something closest to a demonic tree, with countless branches like tentacles. They captured several of my men, trapping them in darkness." Kozmotis shuddered. "They all were returned, but changed; they attacked us, killed their former comrades."
"Kozmo." Amina gasped, feeling the blood leaving her face.
"I didn't know what else to do, and we fought them. More and more were turned, until only three of us remained. I sent them away, and stayed behind to face the shadows. They had merged into a monster towering over me like a giant." His voice became quieter. "I don't know how but somehow I defeated them, and I awoke on another trireme two days later." Kozmotis threw his head back, and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I slaughtered my own men, men I led into battle for years, who followed and trusted me." He let the scimitar slip from his grasp onto the bed, and Amina saw his hands trembling.
"You didn't have a choice; they would have killed you and anyone else in their path. There was nothing else you could have done." She tried to reassure him. "You defeated the shadows, did you not?"
"But how can I forgive myself?" He asked, lowering his head again to look her in the eyes, his own reddened.
Amina framed his face with her hands, and then leaned her forehead against his. "I forgive you." She whispered, but loud enough that he could hear her. He took her by the wrists, and lovingly kissed one of her palms.
…
The next day Kozmotis and Amina attended the funeral ceremony for the fallen soldiers. Thousands had come, and all banners had been removed from the streets. In the end Kozmotis had gone to the bereaved of those he had been forced to kill. He stood before them, went down to his knees, and placed his forehead on the ground between his hands. He bowed before them in utter humility. A High General of Atlantis bowed before common people; such a thing had never happened before, and it left all who saw, or later heard of it, stunned. He gave them his most deeply felt apologies, unseen to them a single tear running down from his eyes, and asked them for their forgiveness. For a long time no one spoke, or dared to move.
Slowly a woman stepped from the crowd, her own tears still drying on her youthful face. "Lord General Pitchiner." She began, quietly but strong, and thanks to the utter silence audible for everyone around. "There is nothing to forgive. Our husbands, brothers and fathers had been taken by the shadows. You were not responsible for their deaths; if anything, I believe, you have spared them suffering, and delivered them from a fate worse than death." If anyone thought differently, he or she didn't voice those thoughts, then or ever.
At the woman's kind words, Kozmotis, who still bowed, had shut his eyes tightly, fighting the tears once more, but this time tears of gratefulness.
A several days later, shortly before Kozmotis would have to set sails again, he brought his daughter to a small building at the sea. One had to ride downhill from the villa for about five to ten minutes, on food it would probably take around twenty, and it stored one of Kozmotis' favorite toys. Just a few years ago he'd commissioned a special craft, which he'd designed along with an old friend of his. This vessel was a catamaran. With two slim hulls, joined by two crossbeams, a single mast in the middle of the front crossbar, and one triangular sail controlled by sailor, it was likely one of the fasted human made vessel on water. It was designed for one person, but Kozmotis had no doubts that he could take someone as light as Aemilia with him.
She had not yet seen the catamaran before, but her face lit up when she did. While he took his place at the rear crossbar, the ropes which allowed him to control the sail in his gloved hands, Aemilia got a place and the bamboo-network, covering the square between the hulls and crossbars. With another cord he secured her to the vessel, so she wouldn't fall off during the turns.
"Why can't I stand?" She protested.
"Because then you'd have nothing to hold on too, and I need room to steer." He smiled at her friendly. "One day, if you like, I'm going to show you how to drive it, but for your first time, you'll have to sit tight."
"You will teach me?"
Kozmotis winked mischievously. "When your mother isn't looking."
The first meters were slow, as he brought the catamaran into position. Kozmotis pulled at one of the robes, and the triangular sail moved into position. It then caught the wind, inflated suddenly, and the hulls' fonts briefly sunk deeper into the water, but came right up again. With great speed, the vessel flew over the calm water, almost taking off as it seemed. Aemilia held on to the netting with both hands, her hair wildly fluttering behind her head. She needed to close her eyes somewhat, and water was spraying all around her, soon drenching her clothing. How she couldn't care less.
Kozmotis stayed close to the coast, trying to get maximum velocity, more than happy when he heard his daughter laugh and scream with joy. He bent his knees, to turn the sail a bit sharper, and the catamaran tilted to the side, one hull now complete lifted from the water, until the vessel was nearly completely on its side. Aemilia yelped, clinging even tighter to the netting. Kozmotis stood upon the lifted hull, and brought it back down, after completing the turn.
"Can you do it again?!" His daughter shouted.
…
Meanwhile Amina bound a little scroll to a hawk's ankle, the light brown feathered bird looking at her with intelligent golden eyes. Gently she stroked the soft white chest, as she carried the bird to one of the windows of the tower, and it readjusted its claws on the leather glove. The hawk looked out said window after she opened it, and spread its wings. For a while Amina remained at the window to watch it fly. She was about to turn back, and climb down the tower, when she saw a familiar boat sailing along the coast.
Annoyed, and harshly she removed the leather glove. Hadn't he told her they would go for a ride? Maybe it had been a little naïve of her to think he'd meant horses. "Bastard; he's going to get them both killed."
While never having sailed with the catamaran herself, Amina knew how difficult to control it was. With a certain smug amusement she'd watched Kozmotis capsize time and time again. But with their daughter on board, and the strong currents just offshore? Quickly, Amina ran down the stairway, and once she was back in the main building told a servant to get her horse ready.
…
Soon Kozmotis headed back to the boathouse, both him and Aemilia drenched in seawater. His black hair, usually styled back to come out as slick spikes from the back of his head, now stuck to his skin, as did his clothing. With a wide grin on her face, Aemilia watched him anchor the catamaran, wringing out some water out of her shirt.
Once he'd finished, Kozmotis wiped a strand of hair out of her face. "So, you'd like to go sailing again one day?" Given that he would return again. Quickly he banished the thought; this day was far too blissful as to be ruined by such dreadful thoughts.
She nodded excited, and Kozmotis helped his daughter on her horse, when he spotted another rider in the distance, coming from the mansion. He narrowed his eyes in the effort to see better, and saw that it was Amina. And she was wearing her hunting attire. "Emily dear, why don't you go back home." He suggested. "Daddy needs to run away from mommy real quick."
With that being said, he jumped on his own horse, a black stallion called Aclippe, and fled the scene. A few moments later Amina passed her daughter. "Emily, go home now." She said, gone as quick as she'd come, going after Kozmotis. There had been a quiver at her saddle.
Worried Aemilia returned home to find Thymos, the servant in charge of taking care of the horses, in the stables. "Is mommy going to kill daddy?" She asked him, as he helped her get of her horse.
"It would seem so." The servant responded in dry, yet factual manner. "Do not worry, little lady; it would not be the first time."
In the meantime Kozmotis had gained quite a head start, but Amina followed him away from the coast uphill into the country side. Away from the meadows, the bright green and yellow grass grew almost up to one's chest, and every now and then, there were small groups of trees and shrubbery. The wind carried her husband's laughter, merry and untroubled. At first she'd been angry with him, endangering himself and their daughter like that, but the longer she hunted him the more did she find herself enjoying this. As they reached another group of trees, Amina circled around it to cut him off. She bitted her horse, and forced a surprised Kozmotis to do the same. Aclippe shied, his front legs kicking out in the air, and for a moment it looked as if Kozmotis fell off his saddle, though in actuality he'd jumped off, right before disappearing between the nearby trees. Amina followed him, leaving her horse behind as well, but taking bow and quiver with her. The green parts of his clothing made it difficult to spot him, yet the same couldn't be said for the black and white ones. She saw a glimpse of the latter.
The arrow flew through the air, and pinned the white border of his jacket against a tree. Astonished he looked at her. "I'm truly grateful you're not out of practise."
"How do you know this is not a miss?" A devious, over-the-top smile played on her lips tauntingly.
"Because you're a kind-hearted soul." Kozmotis began hopefully. "Who would never seriously harm her beloved husband."
Her smiled became kinder. "Lucky you." Amina replied as she lowered her bow, and he freed himself, breaking the arrow in two.
He threw the projectile away, before he looked at the hole in his jacket. "Was this really necessary though?"
"As if you weren't enjoying our little hunt."
Kozmotis couldn't help but chuckle at this. Back before they'd been married, they used to go hunting, just to have an excuse to be alone together. Of course actual hunting had been one of the last things on their minds. Amina put her weapon aside and walked over to him. "I was concerned; do you remember how often you've flipped that thing over before you knew how to handle it?"
"Which is why I only took Emily with me, after I'd mastered it. There is nothing to be afraid of; I've been sailing for over twenty years, and I know our coasts." He reassuringly put a hand on her cheek, stroking it gently with a thumb. "She is safe with me."
Tightly she hugged him. "Why are you doing this?" Amina asked him calmly, her voice so very soothing. "Is it because of what happened?"
He held her close to him, his fingers clenching at her question. "I thought I was going to die." He admitted, not for the first time. "I attacked it, being so damn sure it would be the last thing I do. I didn't care; all I wanted was for you both to be safe." It grew difficult to fight the coming tears. "Being here, hold you, hear your voices and laughter…you cannot imagine what it means to me. I can never be sure if I return, when I go out there, and I feel I have to make the most of the time I get to spent with you."
For a while they just stood there, holding each other. At some point Kozmotis kissed her along the neck, with her arms still around his shoulders, a hand running through his barely dry hair, and he began to open the bindings of her attire.
…
Once they returned to the mansion, the sun was already setting. Amina's hair was still a mess, despite her best efforts to bind it together, while Kozmotis kept an arm around her waist. As Aemilia asked when they would go sailing again Amina only shrugged, a tired but happy smile still on her lips.
The weather was warm and dry, mountains dominating the landscape, olive trees growing on their sides, along with light green grass. There was a small hamlet at the west side of one such mountain, and further up a small temple, somewhere in Epirus, a part north western Greece. A man, a shepherd climbed the serpentine stairs leading from the hamlet to the temple, his son by his side. The boy was maybe six years old, and looked both tired and frightened, dark rings around his eyes. The temple was dedicated to the Oneiroi, deities of sleep and dreams, especially Morpheus, Phobetor, also known as Icelus, and Phantasos; the shepherd was hoping they could help his son. At the time a single priest was tending to the temple, with a young boy in his care, who had been left at the temple stairs as a baby.
The temple itself was rather small and kept simple, made of grey stone and with little to no decoration to speak of. Already the elements were leaving marks on the roof and outer columns. Beyond the heavy wooden door was the main hall, with three statues at the far side, all barely taller than an adult. Close by, to the shepherd's right was another smaller door, leading to the living quarters of the priest. He was about to approach it when it opened, the door's hinges ever so slightly creaking as it did, and an elderly man walked into the hall. His chin long hair was white and curly, as well was his round trimmed beard, while the eyes were brown and regarded the shepherd friendly.
"How can a humble servant of the great Oneiroi help you?" The priest voice was deep and clam, mirroring the kindness of his expression.
"My son, honored priest." The shepherd explained. "For many nights now night terrors plague him in his sleep, and he grows weaker with every passing day. I beg you to beseech the gods that the merciful Oneiroi may spare him."
Slowly the elderly priest got down to the boy's eye level, and took a good look at him. His expression was that of sorrow and empathy, before it was changed by a comforting smile. "Come with me, and I prepare his treatment." The shepherd was most relieved and nodded, following the priest, known to the people of the hamlet as Eusebios, into the living quarters. It was a small and oblong room, with two beds and chairs, a fireplace and a table. "Have your son lie on this bed." Eusebios spoke, pointing at the one closest to the door, the mattress just straw covered by a piece of cloth, the pillow just large enough for a head.
"Do the gods demand a sacrifice for my son's health?" He had little, but he would gladly give one of his sheep if it was required.
The priest however shook his head. "What is needed to cure your son, we will provide gladly. My novice shall perform the rites, himself." There was some pride in those last words, and he put a hand on a boy's shoulder.
Concerned the shepherd regarded the shy, young novice that had appeared out of Eusebios' shadow. He could only be a few years older than his son, was short build, and a bit round, but the most unusual feature was the dark blonde hair, like the barbarians far north of Olympus. "This boy is to help my son?" The priest could not be serious.
Eusebios tried to appease the worried father, hands lifted defensively. "I assure you, I wouldn't trust my student with your son's health unless I was absolutely sure he could manage it. This boy is blessed by the Oneiroi; they work through him."
The father was still unconvinced, but what choice did he have? "Do what you think is best, but bring peace to my son."
"I am confident that tonight, no night terror is going to plague him. My novice and I will take good care of your son, and in the meantime, you ought to pray to Phobetor. Let him hear your pleas, and he shall be merciful."
"Thank you, honored priest. I will." With one last look to his son, the shepherd returned to the temple. Before he'd closed the door behind him, he could hear the priest speaking to his novice one more time. "Chrysos, prepare the herbs, and place them around the bed. Our patient's mind is frightened and clouded."
Autumn was coming, and the winds got harsher, while the leaves turned wine red and yellow. Just the previous day, Kozmotis had returned from another mission, and found them on the great balcony that extended from the dining room; Amina was reading, while their daughter practised her writing skills on a wax tablet. He knocked softly at the wall, making both turn their heads, Aemilia's gaze wandering to what he was holding in his hands. Quickly she was on her feet, grinning from ear to ear. "You're gonna teach me?" She asked exited.
"I promised." Her father replied, and gave her one of the wooden swords. "Why don't you go on ahead to the terrace? I'll be right there." He'd barely finished his sentence, when Aemilia stormed down the stairs, making Kozmotis chuckle a bit as he turned to his wife.
Amina, who too was standing at this point, crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Kozmo, she's a girl."
He rolled his eyes, not taking her very seriously. "You learned to use bow and arrow as a child."
"I grew up a Sagittarius; it's our signature weapon."
"So the bow is alright, but a sword goes too far?" Kozmotis asked teasingly.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then puckered her lips before speaking calmly. "She won't be a warrior; she'll be married to a noble one day."
"I'm not trying to turn her into a soldier." He protested. "But I have so little time with her, and if this is what she wishes to learn I will not deny it. These are the few years in her life where few duties dictate her, and in these she should be allowed to do a few foolish things, every now and then."
Suddenly Amina hugged him tightly, and he held her close. "You're spending so much time out on sea, fighting this endless war, and I am left here, fearing you might not return. All I can do is to protect her; I could not bear the thought of losing you both."
Gently he nuzzled his face against hers. "You won't, you have my word." Kozmotis assured her. "And you know it pains me not being able to spend as much time here as I'd like. I too want to protect you both, and so I must go out there. I will rest easier in those nights, knowing that you can take care of yourselves. I want to teach her, not just because she wants me to, but for my own peace of mind." He heard her sigh at his words.
"Fine, do what you must. But if she one day stabs her suitors, you will have to explain it."
Kozmotis grinned, and pulled her closer. "Deal." He whispered close to her ear. They kissed, before he followed Aemilia to the terrace.
She was already swinging her sword around with wild moves, which got her off balance and made the butterflies fly for their lives to all directions. "It is heavier than I thought." His daughter said upon his arrival.
"One day you want to hold a real sword, don't you? It is as heavy as it needs to be to make you stronger." He looked to the hilt. "Show me your grip." She held the sword in front of her, and he examined her fingers. "Hands further apart; there should be room for another between both. And don't hold it so strained, but relaxed, ease your grip."
"What if I drop it?" She asked concerned.
"Your blade will become the extension of your arm. Can you drop your arm?"
Aemilia rolled her eyes. "No."
Kozmotis smiled and nodded. "Now, straighten yourself. If you lean forward you offer your opponent your head, but as a general rule, no matter where to you angle your body, you're destabilizing yourself. It will be more difficult to react properly to your opponent's attacks, and it betrays your next move." He circled her and corrected her stand. "Let us begin. You will not be fighting like a common soldier, hacking, hammering and widely slashing. You'll be fighting swift and sudden, with skill and technique."
At first he showed her basic moves, a strike from above, and one from each of her shoulders going down diagonal, intended to slice the opponent up from neck to hip. He watched the way she held her arms and the sword, and that she stood steady. Once he was satisfied with her progress, he practised a series of moves, he attacked slowly, allowing her to block, deflect and counter. They trained for two hours straight, until father and daughter sat down at the pond, watching the butterflies, which were still keeping their distance. Aemilia was hugging her wooden sword and leaned back against her father, who was trying to ignore his aching knuckles, where she'd accidentally hit him at one point.
"Father?" She asked after a while.
"Yes, Emily?"
"Can we go sailing again?"
Chrysos was nervous; his hands cold and a bit sweaty as he tried to call himself down with a deep breath. The spicy smell of the herbs and incenses helped, and cautiously he approached the boy. His master had knocked him out with a drug, so his mind would be calm enough for what was about to come. Eusebios had spoken the truth when he'd claimed Chrysos was blessed by the Oneiroi: for as long as he could remember, Chrysos had been able to peek into the minds of others, first unintentionally, and only when they were calm, which meant either relaxing or sleeping. He'd been terrified the first time he'd suddenly seen the hopes and dreams of others. Chrysos had ran to his mentor and confessed it, but instead of being angry or frightened, Eusebios had seen it as a blessing by the gods, something to be cherished yet used with care and a great sense of responsibility. It had only confirmed and strengthened the priest's conviction that Chrysos was destined to serve the Oneiroi.
If that was true, they had also demanded a prize. Chrysos had always been mute.
Just another reason why he barely left the temple, or the surrounding area; where else would he be accepted and he was all the more thankful for Eusebios kind heart and understanding. For all intents and purposes he was Chrysos' father figure. Now Eusebios had his eyes closed and spoke prayers, and with a deep breath, the novice steeled himself before carefully placing a hand on the boy's forehead.
It was like jumping into cold water, the foreign mind defending itself against the sudden intrusion. Chrysos opened his eyes…sort of. He found himself in a dark forest, the dead trees stripped of their leaves, the sky cold and moonless. Nothing stirred, and slowly Chrysos began to walk. Somewhere around the boy had to be, at least his consciousness' perception of himself. Fog crawled over the bony roots, reaching up to the novices knees. This was all deeply troubling, as nightmares usually derived from a person's memories, things they had seen and experienced, but this was not. It was artificial, created by something or somebody else. Was Phobetor himself punishing this boy?
Eventually he found him, cowering under a tree, sobbing soundly. "Are you alright?" Only here, in the mind of others, Chrysos had a voice of his own; it would always be alien to him.
The boy jumped at the sound, and looked up with reddened eyes. "You…you're not one of them." He stammered, with just a flash of hope in his eyes. Of course he didn't recognized Chrysos, even though he'd seen the novice before being drugged. He was the manifestation of the boy's subconscious, his emotions, and basic personality given from, and right now fear was the most dominant.
"One of whom?" Chrysos asked friendly, sitting down next to the boy.
"Shadows, monsters." The boy squeaked, hiding his face behind his pulled up knees, arms wrapped tightly around his legs.
When dealing with nightmares, monsters were nothing unusual; they were the minds meaning of representing dangers, help it to deal with them. But this boy couldn't even face them, and it was Chrysos job to remedy that. "No, I'm none of them. As a matter of fact I'm here to help you get rid of them."
One of the boy's eyes reappeared from behind his arm, and glanced questioning at Chrysos. The novice had to admit that he didn't look much like a fighter, not to mention that he was a child himself. "How?"
"The gods have given me a gift; they gave me the means to defeat them. I've done it before."
"You can make them go away?" Hope was back in his eyes.
"Show me one of those monsters and you'll see." Chrysos said, offering a hand to help him stand.
The boy hesitated, but eventually took it. Together they wandered through the woods, Chrysos in front, the boy trying to keep up, his eyes frightfully turning to all directions. The first noise they heard was like the wind, and just as fleeting. Minutes later it was replaced by the hissing of a wild animal. Chrysos stopped in his tracks and looked around. The only thing moving was the fog. Suddenly there was a growl from the top of a tree, and then the novice saw it, a black figure, the upper body slim and humanoid, but no features in its face but white eyes; pale, sharp, dead. Instead of legs, shadows trailed it like lines of smoke. Long black claws were buried into the dead wood as it leaned down to get a better look at the two boys. It made Chrysos shiver, and he felt the fear running through his veins like liquid ice. This had never happened before; whenever he'd faced manifestations of fears in the mind of others before, he had not been afraid, since they hadn't been his own fears, this however…somehow Chrysos knew it wasn't something conjured by the boys own mind, but an foreign entity like Chrysos himself.
"Another mind." It hissed. "So pure, so kind and noble."
"I don't fear you, shadow!"
It laughed cold and cruel, like a murderer, trailing down the dead tree before lifting itself up in front of Chrysos like a cobra. "But you do. I can feel it. You fear what you don't know; you fear what we might do, what we could be capable of. You fear to fail."
"I know that you are not nightmares." He stated calmly, hiding his own anxiety. The boy counted on him.
"No, we are more real than that. We are fear, and you little human tread on our hunting grounds."
From the corner of his eyes, the novice could see more shadows circling them, yet keeping their distance for now. "What do you hunt?"
"We feed of your fear, little human, for we are everything you fear." Then he would treat it like any other fear he'd faced.
Chrysos grabbed the Fearling where the waist should have been, and it stared at him with utter shocked, its pale white eyes widening. Then with a slow, strong voice Chrysos spoke. "You are not real. You are not true. You are nothing." The shadowy creature shivered and twisted…it paled. In his hand the Fearling turned brighter and brighter, grew less substantial, until it was nothing but golden mist, dispersing in the air, until there was no trace of it. "Defy your fear." He told the boy. "And it won't harm you."
The remaining shadows howled angrily, and closed in. "They're so many." The boy said, holding on to Chrysos' white sleeve.
"They are nothing but shadows. Has it harmed me, when I faced it?" The boy shook his head. "And neither will you be harmed." The first shadow approached, snaking through the fog, claws in front as if to grab them. Chrysos caught it by a wrist, with a grim smile. "Be gone, you and your ilk." It tried so hard to free itself, but fared no better than the first.
"I'm still afraid." The boy told him ashamed.
"So am I; but you can fear and still believe that you can overcome it." Chrysos assured him. "Can you believe that?"
The body's gaze followed the golden mist as it disappeared in the air, and with sudden strength in his voice he said. "Yes."
...
Slowly Chrysos removed his hand from the boy's forehead, and turned to his mentor. He nodded to confirm his success, and Eusebios sighed in relive, ending his prayers. Moments later the patient awoke, looking around him confused. Already he looked healthier than a few hours ago.
"How are you feeling, young one." The elderly priest asked him friendly.
"I'm not sure." He admitted. "Better I think. There were monsters and shadows…they all turned into golden mist and…" Only now he spotted Chrysos. "I think he was there too."
"Are you still afraid to sleep?"
He shook his head. "Are they all gone now?" The boy asked hopefully.
Eusebios looked briefly over to his student. "They will bother you no more. Now let us go to your father, and tell him the good news."
Chrysos stayed behind, to put away the bowls of herbs and open a window for fresh air. He was still thinking about the shadows he'd seen. That they could invade a human mind was troubling, and somehow the young priest knew, he hadn't seen the last of them.
It was a warm autumn day, when Trismegistus wandered through the garden, surrounding the guild's towers at the palace. He wasn't alone however, a young man having joined him a few minutes ago. He was in his early teens, just a bit chubby with a friendly round face, and dressed in silver and white robes with a golden border. And he was Tsar Lunar's son. Like most noble houses the Lunars had proven great imagination, when they had named their son Tsar as well, which made differentiating between him and his father difficult sometimes. His mother Tsarina had somewhat solved that little problem, by giving her son an affectionate nickname; Badr, which in a language from the continent meant 'full moon'. Tsar Badr was already a student of the guild, showing great potential as a mage, despite his youth.
"Who's your companion?" Trismegistus looked at the young man following Tsar Badr, keeping a few meters distance. Though being obviously older than Tsar, he had a very youthful face, and was rather slender, almost skinny, yet he wore the silver armor of the house Lunar. His eyes were of a pale green, calm but attentive, while his hair was of an unusual light blond that one could almost perceive as white. Unusual for someone from Atlantis, his skin was extremely pale, and the wizard could even see some blue veins along the throat. In his right hand he held a long spear, and a short sword was fastened at his belt.
"This is my personal guard, Zopyros." Tsar Badr explained. "Ever since my father was elected a few weeks ago, he has been assigned to watch my every step."
Once more the wizard regarded the bodyguard. When the king entrusted his son's life to this young man, he must be more of a warrior than his appearance let on. At the mentioning of his name he bowed politely to Trismegistus. "So you wish to learn more about the shadows haunting our realm?" The wizard continued, changing the subject back to the young noble's original request.
"Archmage Trismegistus." Tsar Badr spoke, humbly. "I was curious as to why the Fearlings and Nightmare Men do not reach us here, when they can travel through shadows."
"We assume that they are too weak on their own. To reappear through another shadow, they probably require a certain proximity, a reason why they use ships." Trismegistus explained. "We have however observed that when two or more melt together, the resulting individual grows in strength as well. It could be possible that a certain number of merged shadows could be powerful enough to reach us here."
"Then why haven't they done so?" The young man wondered aloud.
The sages had often asked themselves the same question, and different theories had been developed over the years. "For once they are the embodiment of fear, and even if some seem remarkably human, they do not think like us. They are pure, raw instinct, simple minded predators, lethal but not blessed with imagination, for which we should be thankful. Their attacks on us have always been straight forward, no complicated tactics, so I assume they have difficulty coming up with complex scenarios, or far reaching plans."
"And the second reason?"
Trismegistus stopped at a tree, and picked an apple, hanging from one of the lower branches. He put the fruit into one of his robe's pockets before he answered, eyes lingering on the old tree. "Well, fear increases their power, it could be that they attack smaller islands first to sow dread among our people, effectively weakening us, and strengthening themselves, until they deem themselves capable of facing us here, where we are at our strongest."
"Maybe Lord Pitchiner can lock them all away before it comes to that." Tsar Badr noted hopefully.
"That would be very fortunate indeed." He removed his gaze from the tree back to Tsar, his expression stern and sorrowful. "This war, however successful costs Atlantis dearly. Almost a decade it now lasts, so many have died, and the Dream Pirates are giving us their full attention."
"Why might that be? This may sound a little insensitive, but would the rest of the world not be an easier target for them?"
Trismegistus shrugged and started walking again. "They must see our defiance as a threat; usually they would come to humans, and cause fear and panic by their mere presence, but we resist, we dare to fight; yes, perhaps with having such a powerful effect on mankind, comes a certain amount of pride as well. And maybe they are clever enough to see that we are right now the only ones on this world, capable of stopping them." He paused briefly, thinking of something his fellow Archmage had once though about. "Ombric has also once suggested that they have their own idea of a natural order; they know that every living being fears, and that defying them disrupting their worldview of sorts. Like a wrong note in the symphony of life; a mistake. And they will not stop waging war against us until that mistake is 'rectified'."
His words seemed to unsettle the young noble, who looked uncomfortable as he contemplated these ideas. "They seek to punish us?" Tsar Badr finally asked, though there was certainty in his voice.
The reply he received was kept short and simple. "A deer ought not to hunt the lion."
Amina stood and watched, arms crossed, fingers moving nervously. Ombric Shalazar had come on her request, and now he was sitting in the small private library giving tasks for Aemilia to perform. At first he'd given her a candle with a single rune cut into the wax, and told her to concentrate on fire, to think of a little flame burning the candlewick. The girl had held the candle in both hands and closed her eyes, and in less than a minute a small blue flame had begun to flicker lively.
Next she'd been given a bowl of water, and was told to freeze it. This turned out to be a little more difficult, but soon enough the water froze in fern resembling patterns. Right now Aemilia tried to levitate a rock, her expression a little twisted by her efforts and concentration. Worried, Amina looked over to Ombric; his assessment would decide how her daughter would be tutored by the guild. As she did have skills in magic, there was no way around it. An untrained mind was dangerous, not just to oneself but to others as well. There were many stories of magic users before the guild existed, who had accidentally set towns on fire, or summoned storms that had carried away trees, as a result of vivid emotions.
Finally the stone began to hover a few centimeters above the ground, and Aemilia looked to her mother, both happy and proud of herself. Amina smiled back, trying to hide her concern. "That should be enough." The elderly wizard said, and got off the chair. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Aemilia."
"You too, Lord Shalazar." She replied still smiling, and Ombric nodded as a goodbye.
Together with Lady Pitchiner he left the library. "Your daughter certainly has great talent. Her training by the guild is indispensable, and best to be begun within the year." He told her once they'd reached the corridor.
"Will she have to join the guild, and live in the capital?" Amina felt her stomach cringe at the thought; her daughter was merely a decade old.
The wizard seemed to have picked up on her worries. "No, I can have an associate tutor her here, if you'd prefer." He said, which eased her mind greatly.
"She's still a child; I don't believe she'd like leaving home so young, and I couldn't rob Kozmotis of the few days he gets to spent with her." She explained. "And I certainly can't let go of her yet."
Ombric nodded. "Understandable. Do not be concerned, Milady. She'll do fine, and I will pick her tutor myself."
They stopped, having reached the Atrium, and politely, Amina bowed. "Thank you, honored Archmage."
He returned the gesture, the tip of his beard almost touching the floor. "My pleasure, and please, if you like you may call me Ombric, same as your husband."
"Then you must address me with Amina in turn."
"That should pose no difficulty." Ombric replied smiling. "I'll send a hawk as soon as I have chosen a suitable teacher. Blessings of the divine, Amina."
"Blessing of the divine, Ombric."
He was almost out the door, when he turned around once more. "Oh, the grasshoppers have told me that there is a leopard roaming the nearby forest. I think it's the one that escaped Lord Leo's private collection. Better keep an eye out."
A little baffled Amina looked after the wizard, even after he'd disappeared behind the front door, but nonetheless told the guards and servants to be watchful.
The runes were burning in a bright white, humming peacefully, despite what they enclosed. A few more than forty shadows were currently imprisoned under deck, behind the runes and bars of pure, foggy light, reaching up to the ceiling. Kozmotis watched them cautiously, after he'd given them to eat. Over the years they had learned more about the shadows, and begun to characterize them; the smallest, which were now the only ones called Fearlings, were little more than ghost, slim humanoid upper body, often with long claws for hands, but no legs or feet, as they levitated, trailed by darkness. The larger ones had a complete humanoid body, being as tall as or even taller than a human. They were the ones sometimes adding shapes that looked like the outlines of clothing; the Atlantians had come to call them Nightmare Men or real Dream Pirates.
For some reason the latter, required actual food, not much but some. The sages had investigated and learned that they needed to be fed whenever the Atlantian crew expressed little fear, while the Fearlings fell in a sleep like state, as if hibernating and waiting for better times to come. Kozmotis had ordered that all Nightmare Men were to be provided meals, something most captains were displeased by; not that they had much choice. Still it did serve a purpose, other than keeping the shadows alive. Just the simple fact that the Dream Pirates needed to eat made them so much more human, which decreased the fear among the men. Thankfully once in prison, they no longer required food, likely because the shadows there were often merged together and held in utter darkness.
Kozmotis turned away from the Dream Pirates, as his ship anchored at Umbra, the name given to this island, which held the prison for all Dream Pirates. Despite Ombric's insisting that it didn't require guards, and that the ward spells sufficed, there were always three soldiers stationed here. However they were relived monthly, as the spells held the shadows inside, but not their voices. Most could not take it for a long period of time.
The wizard, who was accompanying Kozmotis on this journey, joined him under deck, an ebony staff in his left hand. He was called Solon, a middle-aged man, his head clean shaven and tattooed with sacred scripture from his long past time with the priesthood. His blue robe had seen better times, as a Fearling had gotten its claws on it. "With your permission I will begin the ritual."
Kozmotis nodded, and took a step back, as Solon stepped up to the cage. He drew a small pentagram with white chalk for his own protection, while the shadows hissed angrily. They didn't particularly like him, yet he remained unimpressed and placed his staff at the upper spike of the star. Solon began to speak the enchantments. Even though it wasn't directed at him, Kozmotis could feel his hair standing on end, as if temperature had dropped suddenly. The Dream Pirates wailed, a sound that made everyone who could hear it cringe, though the General kept his expression straight. The shadows shifted and moved, losing their forms. They merged into a black sphere, hovering above the ground, the surface constantly shifting like black water or thick smoke. Solon lifted his free hand, clenching it into a fist, and the bars of light bend to enclose the sphere in a circular cage.
Only now Solon stepped off the pentagram and began to walk up the stairs, the cage floating in front of him, controlled by the staff. Kozmotis followed the wizard, narrowing his eyes briefly at the sunlight. The crew had stepped aside, leaving plenty of room for the caged prisoners. With a handful of chosen men, the General and the sage climbed up the mountain, where the guards were already waiting for them. They all looked unusually pale, dark rings had appeared around their sunken in eyes, but the held themselves straight. All three bowed before the High General, as they let Solon pass into the prison.
"Lord Pitch, we are honored by your visit." One of the guards welcomed him.
"My thanks for your warm welcome." Kozmotis responded instructing them to stand up, with a simple gesture. "I suppose you'll be pleased to hear that we've also brought your relief, and you are to return to Atlantis with us."
The gratitude was written plainly on their faces, and Kozmotis followed the wizard inside. The sphere was now in front of the door, and Solon had begun a new incantation. Once more the shadows moved violently, resisting their fate, but in vain. The runes upon the door glowed up brightly, and the shadows began to stream through the solid stone, right at the center of the pentagram. After about two minutes, they were all inside, and Solon dropped his arms, sweat running down his head. The runes dimmed, and returned to humming peacefully. It had been like this for several years, and would continue for some more, this much the High General knew.
Before going home, Kozmotis had one place left to visit. He led his horse Aclippe through the harbor streets by the harness, the people he met making way, not a few bowing respectfully. To each who did he nodded appreciatively. His fame had greatly increased after killing the titanic shadow singlehandedly, and even more than before he was now regarded as a hero.
As he wandered through the broad streets of Atlantis, he once more took in the beauty and magnificence of the city. The landscape, despite being on the coast, was dominated by steep hills, and so some buildings stood upon columns with the scale of broad trees, especially along the river. The majority of buildings were small palaces in themselves, palazzos of white marble and stone, and several stories high, the fronts covered with ornamented pillars, reliefs and statues. A few had domes for roofs, some colored in pale blue or shimmering gold. One could not help but feel small and somewhat insignificant in these streets.
The house Kozmotis had been looking for was a workshop, famous throughout the realm, and it belonged to an old friend. The noble family of Mercur had become rich by being successful merchants, having their very own fleet of ship, with which they sailed to the continents, even going as far as Asia some times, taking the long route around Africa. One of their family however had abandoned the trade, and instead had taken to handcraft; he could built anything from wood, be it works of art and ships. The workshop was easy enough to spot, as it showcased his skill, yet rather small between the other buildings. It was entirely made of wood, and awe striking images had been carved into the pillars, mirroring various styles, like the knot designs of northern people, or covered with profiles of wild animals. Kozmotis tied Aclippe to a post, which head was shaped like a dragon's, and proceeded to push open the large double doors, a bit more than three meters high, ornamented same as the pillars.
The workshop had two floors, with a great hall at the center like a roofed atrium. Dozens of people worked here, the sound of saws and hammers dominating within these halls. Even before Kozmotis had closed the portals behind him, he was being addressed by a warm, booming voice.
"Lord Pitch, how may this humble craftsman be of service?" Kyrillos Mercur was surely not humble by appearances; a tall man with broad shoulders, his bid hands covered with scars from years of work. His face was sturdy but angular, framed by a curly brown beard he kept short, while the rest was held together in a ponytail, reaching down to his shoulder blades. He gave Kozmotis quite a pat on the back, once the General stepped into the center hall.
He caught himself however, suppressing an instinctive cough. "I have a request, and I was counting on your skills, old friend."
"Well, you're in time; just the other day we finished few new capitals for the temple columns. What do you have in mind?"
"You remember the catamaran you build me?"
"Aye, beautiful thing that was; likely the fasted ship I've ever build." His voice switched to an alarmed tone. "Don't tell me you broke it."
"No such thing." Kozmotis appeased him. "It remains in one piece and is well taken care of. Still, I'd like you to build me a second one, but this time smaller, so a child can handle it."
Suddenly Kyrillos laughed aloud, his voice booming through the hall, turning a few heads. "Now you want one for your daughter?"
"I took her sailing with it; now I have to take her every time I come home."
"I see. May I presume she'll one day lead our fleets to victory same as her father?"
"Amina would surely kill me." He replied with a grin. "Until then, I'd like to surprise my daughter with a special treat. You think you can help me with that?"
"Do you truly need to ask? It would be my pleasure, and a welcome challenge. Maybe she'll sail it to the Amazons, or further even to the Sisters of Flight." Kyrillos mused. Should such a thing happen, Kozmotis figured he'd have to run after her, not just to bring her home, but to escape his wife's wrath. Amina still had her very own bow, and knew well how to handle it; Sagittarius archers were not known to miss their chosen target. Kyrillos invited Pitchiner with a wave of his hand to follow him. "Come then; I'm sure I have the plans and sketches somewhere around."
Somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, far north from Atlantis, was a small island. In truth it was only the peak of a mountain, with a crooked gap in the stone, just large enough for a person to get through. One could follow a long dark tunnel, which led deep into the mountain, until it reached a cavern of tremendous dimensions, if the human eye could have seen in the complete and utter darkness. Things moved around between the stone, shadows with hardly a shape to speak of, only sharp, predatory white eyes in the dark, and the sound of sharp claws upon rock. They were furious.
"More gone." Came the voices. "Less and less return." It sounded like the words were said by several shadows simultaneously throughout the cavern. Ever since the Atlantians had begun to take them prisoner, fewer were killed and reappeared in the mountain's caverns.
"Atlantis remains a threat."
"The only true threat." The shadows agreed.
"We must destroy them." They decided. "Before our numbers grow too small."
There was some concerned. "But then they will fear us no longer. All must fear us!"
"But there is rest of the world." Others reminded them. "We can do without a few thousands, when we have millions left to feed on."
"Atlantians hardly fear us anymore. Their leader was too successful in his efforts; he gives them hope."
"But we have killed other leaders." A few argued.
"Not enough to crumble their faith." More objected.
"They feel too save."
"The General." Some whispered. "The General must be our target."
"We tried to kill him countless times. We managed not to slay him in battle."
"The cursed wizards are to blame." The voices hissed wrathfully.
"We must break him." They concluded. "Break his spirit, make him lose what is most dear to him."
"When they see their hero broken, they will realize none are safe from us." They cheered cruelly. "They will fear us once more, make us stronger."
"And then we kill him."
"Atlantis will follow." They added, relishing the thought. "Their prison will crumble."
Then all the voices spoke at once. "And our darkness will cover the entire world."
…
Somewhere in Epirus, Chrysos suddenly shivered. He knew there was something dark in the west; he could feel it like a cool wind, ever present but nothing he could truly touch upon. And it made him shiver to his bones. It was similar to the sensation he got when relieving someone of their nightmares, when Chrysos went to the dark places of their minds and found their fears. Whatever was out there, it was dark and forbidding, inescapable like the coming night. And it was stirring. Something big was going to happen, and Chrysos prayed he was far enough away to be spared its wrath.
Author's Note
Characters from the original books: Kozmotis Pitchiner, Lady (Amina) Pitchiner, Emily Jane Pitchiner, Ombric Shalazar, Tsar & Tsarina Lunar, Tsar (Badr) Lunar/MiM, Sandman (Chrysos), Nightlight (Zopyros), Dream Pirates/Fearlings/Nightmare Men
The Monstrous Shadow was inspired by the cover art of the Iron Maiden album Fear of the Dark
Butterflies: Well, there had to be a reason why golden butterflies circled Pitch's head after Sandy knocked him out in the movie. That scene was heavily inspired by artwork from deviantart, by ymirr.
What Chrysos says to the Fearling in the boy's mind ("You are not real. You are not true. You are nothing.") is taken right from The Sandman: The Story of Sanderson Mansnoozie by William Joyce.
Oneiroi: Greek deities of dreams, sons of Nyx(Night) and Erebus(Darkness), and brothers of Hypnos(Sleep), Thanatos(Death) and Geras(Old Age).
Three of them are: Morpheus (Guise), presenting human images. Icelus, usually called Phobetor(frightening), who was the personification of nightmares, appearing in dreams in form of animals and monsters, and Phantasos(Apparition), responsible for inanimate objects and forces of nature.
Ombric is said to speak many insect languages in the books, and therefore understands the grasshoppers.
Characters/Names/Translation:
Chrysos/Sandy: Chrysos is Greek and means 'golden'; the name was given by Eusebios as a reference to his unusual blond hair, and later it will go nicely in regard to the Dream Sand. In the books he's not from earth, so his backstory needed to be changed quite a bit. Since he had to live around the same time as Kozmotis and Emily, I made him Greek and a priest of the Oneiroi, so he'd have a connection to dreams even before he was chosen.
I've read that he is not mute in the books, and furthermore that in the movie he didn't speak so as to not wake any sleeping children…and because it made him look cuter. I made him mute, because he doesn't make any audible sounds in the movie, not even in battle when he's hit, and secondly why make Sandy a Guardian and then tell him he can't ever speak again, without disturbing the sleep of all the children in the world? It just seems cruel; he must be ever so grateful to MiM.
Tsar Lunar/MiM: In the books he is just a baby when Kozmotis is turned into Pitch Black, and destroys the Golden Age. His family is attacked by Pitch, leaving him pretty much stranded on his parent's vessel after their death and to be raised by the crew. Obviously there wouldn't be such a vessel in this version, as we are on earth, so there would also be no crew to raise him. Therefor I decided to have him grow up with his family, which will also have him see the destruction by the Fearlings and Dream Pirates for himself. Giving him the Nickname Badr(which is Arabic by the way) was really just to keep him apart from his father.
Aclippe = mighty mare
Eusebios= pious
Zopyros= glowing
Umbra (latin) = shadow
Solon= wisdom