Chapter VI
Her naked feet ran through the soft sand, her light brown, almost golden eyes fixed on a spot in front of them. She whispered a few words, and where she was looking at, the sand began to move, shifting, building a defined shape. Hovering over the ground now, was a small ship, a catamaran, and guided by her thoughts and a hand, she let it cruise over the beach as if it was the ocean.
Emily came to the beach still, even after three years, though her eyes were no longer fixed on the horizon. Never had she seen a ship, only once maybe a silhouette in the distance, but Typhan had been right; sailors seemed to avoid this island, and so she remained stranded. Did her father still look for her? Had he given up? Or had he never started to begin with? All these questions, all this doubt haunted her mind day and night, and her frustration grew with every day and week she spent here.
The wizard had been kind, lending her his ear whenever she needed to get something off her mind, comforting her when she cried after a particular painful dream, and teaching her ever since she'd come to him, and so by now she could control most elements around her; water, air and fire obeyed her command with the correct spell, but right now Emily was struggling with earth. Sand was fine, its structure making it easy enough to guide and shape, but earth and rock were different. And her patience was running out. He'd told her they would start with transforming inanimate objects, once he deemed her ready, but divines knew when that day would finally come. Her sudden anger made the sand-catamaran crumble.
Emily felt so utterly forsaken.
…
From the forest Typhan watched his young student, deeply worried, yet watching might have been the wrong term. Three years ago, he'd been blind on one eye, but now both had turned milky grey, and the old man had completely lost his eyesight. Now he was required to rely on his other senses, as well on Aemilia, though conveniently being a wizard, he still had something of a sixth sense, sharpened by the loss of his sight. He could sense magic around him, which meant that among others he could sense her, especially when she used a spell.
Her frustration was obvious, but Typhan wouldn't rush things because of the mood wings of an adolescent girl. He was still her mentor, and he tried to be something of a father figure to her. The wizard was well aware that she was still waiting for her real father, though she was losing hope with each day. Sadly it made her isolate herself. Even after sunset the girl would wander the island, and their conversations grew shorter, more and more stark, as if she was baring herself from any strong emotional connection. Whether Aemilia realized it or not, it hurt the old man deeply, who had found himself enjoying the company initially, after so many years alone.
Typhan was still angry with the guild for casting him out, just for trying something new, no other wizard had dared before. Such ignorance; he was better off without them. Not to mention it would have been sad, had the girl wasted her impressive talents with the narrow minded teachings of the guild, and whether she appreciated or not, once, if she returned to Atlantis, Aemilia would have no peers, thanks to him. The thought gave Typhan a certain satisfaction.
He would teach her to control the elements around her, how to transform almost any object into almost anything she wanted. Typhan had started with this far too late in his life to have the proper strength to use all the spells he'd once created, and no crystals with stored energy were at his disposal, but Aemilia had the strength, and for now the proper motivation. She wanted so much to return to Atlantis, but the hermit knew it would still take years. Maybe by then she would have accepted her place here; it would do them both some good.
In any case, it was probably for the best if she never found out that he himself had change the currents around this island upon his arrival all those years ago. It had been intended to bring schools of fish to his new home, in order to supply him with food all year around. Unfortunately however, several ships had wrecked in the first two years, though they had provided him with everything he needed to build himself a proper home, until Atlantian sailors had learned to avoid this island. Nowadays he was too weak to reverse what he had once done. If nothing else the winds still obeyed his commands.
Typhan sighted. All his skills, all the power he once had…had he only learned the proper healing spell, he wouldn't be blind today. At least now he had someone at his side to support him, at least for a while. It would be difficult to let go, when the time came.
The mind struggled, but like all the times before, Chrysos got through. This time around, he found himself in a ruined town, devoid of life and sound. Lacerated curtains moved in the wind, which the young priest could not feel on his skin; then again neither the breeze nor his body here were real. The streets were paved with grey stone, grey as the sky above, covered with a thin layer of ash, which was thrown around in the wind every now and then, soon covering his feet. He heard crying from somewhere, and followed the sound over tons of debris. Not far there was a dead tree, its bark black and cracked, most of the branches and twigs burned off, and cowering at the trunk was a little girl.
Chrysos approached her, and got on his knees. He didn't get too close or even put a hand on her for comfort; startled people liked to lash out. "Are you alright?" He simply asked, with his unfamiliar sounding voice.
She only pulled her knees closer to herself, her sobbing unchanged.
Swiftly Chrysos jumped to his feet when he heard a familiar chuckle. Even after years it sent shivers down his spine. "Reveal yourself, shadow." He demanded, fists clenched in defiance.
A patch of ash rose close to the tree until it stood as a three meter high column of dark smoke, two white eyes appearing in the blackness. "The little priest." It hissed, followed by an animalistic snarl.
He frowned. "You know of me shadow?"
There was low growl, coming from everywhere and nowhere, like ominous thunder. "Of course; you've been bothersome for quite some time now. You travel throughout the land, hunt us down, yes."
"Your numbers appear to be thinning out." Chrysos noted a smirk on his lips. "You're the first shadow I've encountered in many weeks. One could almost come to the conclusion that something has happened to you."
The voice turned angry. "Do not flatter yourself, mortal. You may have defeated a few of us, but our true enemy lies beyond the sea, not on the continent. No, not here, not you." It changed its appearance, turning it into a humanoid shape, though it was still smoke where the legs should have been, but it had long threatening claws in place of fingers. Chrysos was surprised by how thin and weak it yet looked; it was almost see-through.
"What enemy do you speak of?"
The shadow was swaying now, as if it hadn't had the strength to keep itself straight. "Atlantis; bothersome people, who've dared to fight us." It was speaking itself into a rage, its eyes no longer on Chrysos, but staring into space. "But one day our kind will be free once more, yes, free to take our revenge." Atlantis. The priest had heard tales of that legendary kingdom, somewhere at the edge of the known world. They ruled the seas and their wizards controlled the very elements they said, even if some considered such powers as an affront to the gods. Whether those fantastic stories were true or not, it would seem they stood and prevailed against the shadows, which was a most comforting thought; the priest was not alone in his fight.
Chrysos was growing more curious. "Free from what?" It seemed to have forgotten that it was speaking to the priest; this seemed to be a unique and excellent opportunity to get information out of the shadow. If there was anything he'd learned about them, it was that they were not particular bright, certainly devious and cruel, but more instinct, easy to be fooled; or perhaps it was simply arrogance.
There was an angry outcry, and swiftly the shadow lowered itself, its featureless head inches from Chrysos' now. "Prison; Atlantians built infernal prison to hold us. So many of us are now trapped, only a few remain free, isolated, hanging on to children's minds, their fear just enough to sustain us. Must free them soon, or we last will fade. We are collective, not individuals, yes, must free them soon." Slowly, and still swaying, it returned to its previous position next to the tree. If Chrysos didn't know better, he'd said it was drunk or otherwise drugged. Was that the effect of…what had it called it, 'fading'? And a prison? Perhaps the wizards of Atlantis were as powerful as they'd been praised.
"How many of you are still free?"
"So few now, so few. Doesn't know exactly, others so far away, connection long gone, fading, fading fast." The voice was confused, the shadow still moving back and forth constantly, its substance now shivering. "Need fear, need to feed."
Suddenly it launched itself at the cowering girl, but Chrysos had reacted fast, stepping between it and the girl, and grabbed the shadow by the thin throat. "No, you will fade. I don't fear you, and no longer will this girl."
The white eyes widened in panic, it slashed out at him in fury, but the smoky claws went through the small priest without causing damage. Chrysos tightened his grip as he spoke. "You are nothing shadow, be gone now, forever." And with a last painful hiss, the shadow grew pale, and turned into golden mist, rising and dispersing in the air, gone without a trace. Chrysos breathed out relieved.
Almost immediately, the girl at the tree stirred, her cyring stopped instantly. She looked over knees and around, searching for the demon that had haunted her all this time. "Is it gone?" She asked the priest timidly, once she saw him.
He gave her his warmest smile and kneeled down to her eye-level, which wasn't very far. "Yes, child; you are safe now."
Slowly she nodded, and then smiled in return; she would fine now, his work was done. The girl got back onto her feet and Chrysos watched as she let a hand run over the blackened bark of the tree, some of it breaking off under her touch, to reveal new, live bark beneath it. It surprised him time and time again how fast a child's mind would sometimes recover. Before Chrysos left her, he saw the first tiny green leaves, emerging on the burned tree's growing branches, as the sky above was turning bright and blue.
Kozmotis closed the large chest, containing all the clothing he would need in the foreseeable future. On the bed he'd once shared with his wife, he had placed some other things that were of great value to him, items he wanted to take with him. While the locket was always hanging around his neck, there were plenty of other objects he could not part with. There was a book with stories, from which Amina and he had read to Aemilia, and of course the drawings his wife had made over the years. If only she had made one of herself, but in his mind Kozmotis could still picture her clearly; the way she looked, the sound of her soft voice, even the touch of her skin. Drawings or not, nothing could take a lifetime of memories from him, not those of her.
Someone knocked against the open door behind him, and Kozmotis turned around to see Ombric Shalazar standing in the doorway. "May I enter?" He asked carefully. They hadn't parted on good terms the last time, but nonetheless Pitchiner nodded. For so many years they'd been friends; it shouldn't end with an argument, and apparently Ombric thought much the same. "I'm here, because I do not wish that our last words were spoken in anger, my friend." The Archmage continued, taking the first, slow steps into the room. "Only the divines know if we're ever going to meet again, and I wanted to apologize…and to say my goodbyes."
"Thank you, Ombric…I shouldn't have stormed out, but I…" Pitchiner began to apologize but he found himself lost for words, his gaze lowering from the Archmage to the floor.
When he noticed that his friend wouldn't continue, Ombric spoke again. "What I said was harsh, certainly somewhat thoughtless, and perhaps you truly have to do this." He paused. "Today I came, hoping I could do something for you, make amends."
"No compensations are required." Kozmotis told him, looking up once more. "You've only voiced your thoughts, but you are right; I need to do this, and if you don't mind, I do not wish to discuss this matter further."
The Archmage nodded once. "Of course; I didn't come here to try and change your mind, and I know now that nothing I could say, can persuade you to stay." His gaze wandered to the bed. "I see you'll be taking her works with you as well?"
"Yes." Where was the wizard going with this?
Ombric smiled. "Then I think you will appreciate what I can do for you, my friend. With an enchantment, I can make them last forever, so they'll never be lost to you. Including the one in your locket" Kozmotis opened his mouth, but no word came out, so the wizard continued. "Once enchanted neither age, nor the elements will harm them; they will even outlive you."
"If you do this, I don't think I can thank you enough."
With a kind smile, Ombric put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "Keep your wits about you, boy, and promise that every now and then you will consider returning here. Someone like you shouldn't be wasting his life, guarding a prison. I don't say don't go, only keep it mind that you still and always will have friends here."
…
Kozmotis smiled at this memory, as he went through the drawings. Had it already been three years? Sometimes is seemed longer, but on days like today, shorter. The Dream Pirates were quiet today, no angry hissing or pleas, and while his guard was never down, Kozmotis allowed himself to relax a little, sitting at the table close to the fireplace. He took his time as he went through the pages, some showing the landscape around the mansion, others the horses that had once roamed the meadows, though most were of Aemilia and himself. Laying aside a drawing of him, breaking in a horse, he took one of his daughter clashing blades with him in one of their training sessions. His fierce little warrior; in an unconscious gesture, his teeth nipped at his lower lip, and his thumb gently stroke the golden locket.
Eventually he came to the book, the one Ombric had been kind enough to enchant as well. He and Amina had told their daughter every fairytale written on its pages more than once, and he was sure he knew some of them by heart. Casually Kozmotis flipped through the pages, stopping every now and then when he came across the title of one his daughter had especially enjoyed. Aside from those, he'd also told her stories of his own exploits, at least when his wife hadn't been around. Amina hadn't thought them appropriate for a child, though they were hardly bloodier than the actual children stories. Still, when telling his own tales, Kozmotis had always left out some of the gruesome details, and added a lot of showmanship.
…
Aemilia sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled up and her arms around them, her eyes wide and attentive as she listened intently to every of her father's words. He'd returned home a few days ago, and was now prancing barefoot through her room, as if he was fighting an invisible enemy, a wooden training-sword in his hand. He was wearing his usual black pants with a long-sleeved, white shirt, and with the buttons loosened, the cuffs of his sleeves opened up like funnels around his hands.
"He swiftly dodged the Khopesh of the Egyptian captain." Kozmotis sidestepped, and made an ellipse with his bade, as if he was working around another. "With a quick move disarmed him." The sword went swiftly and forcefully to the left. "And forced him to back up against his own ship's railing, scimitar against the captain's throat." With a smile he gently placed the wooden blade against his daughter's shoulder, close to her neck. "The officer then spoke to the captain. 'Tell your men to surrender, or they'll face death and defeat.'" He held in as his gaze fell upon the window behind the bed, where he saw the reflection of Amina, standing in the doorway, arms folded in front of her chest. Quickly Kozmotis lowered the wooden sword, hiding it behind his back as he turned 90°. "And then the captain had his men lay down their weapons. The Atlantians reached a diplomatic solution with the Egyptians, with the officer taking part in the negotiations, helping to avoid a long and dreadful war."
Amina frowned, but with an amused smile on her lips. "Is that so?"
"Of course." He replied innocently. It hadn't been him alone, but Kozmotis had played a great part in the negotiations with the Egyptians.
"That's how the story ends?" Aemilia seemed rather unsatisfied her father's abrupt ending of his tale.
"Anticlimactic, I'll admit, but that's how it happened." Kozmotis explained, turning back to his daughter. "I just didn't want to bore you with the onslaught of politics, which ensued."
Shaking her head, Amina crossed the room, going past her husband to the night table. "Have you ever considered, reading her a story from this book?" She asked, picking up said object, waving it a little in front of his nose. Books were a rare and comparatively new medium, though pages were easier to flip then going to an equally long scroll.
"I was considering it as a backup." He admitted.
"Do stick to it next time, would you?"
His lips turned up in a warm smile. "Maybe you'd like to tell us a story." Kozmotis suggested, before he sat down next to his daughter, to her right, and together they looked expectantly at Amina, making her chuckle.
"Oh, you're so cute together." She purred almost mockingly. "Fine; then make yourselves comfortable." Amina opened the book, and sat down to the left of them, as Aemilia took her place on her father's lap, her back against his chest, as her mother began to read. "Once upon a time…"
…
Until deep into the night Amina had read, and Aemilia had fallen asleep at some point, leaning against her father. Very carefully he'd tucked her in, before he and his wife had snuck out. It felt like it had happened in another life entirely, and he closed the book again. From the men on the last supply ship, Kozmotis had heard that Lykos was starting a family of his own now. Would he tell his child one day the same stories, or maybe tales of the war against the Dream Pirates? He couldn't help but wonder how he himslef would be portrayed in them. A decade of war had shaped the island realm, lives had been lost, towns and hamlets destroyed. Would he be the High General who had defeated the shadows, or the one unwilling to act until his family had been taken from him?
Sighing heavily Kozmotis put the book and the drawings back into the shelves. He shouldn't be wasting his thought on such matters; they only troubled his haunted mind, and he needed to focus on his duty. It shouldn't concern him how he was perceived by future generations only that Atlantis had a future at all. Maybe some fresh air would do him some good.
Kozmotis took his scimitar, and stepped out into the afternoon sun. A few seabirds circled above his head, and down at the coast the waves were beating against the stones. A walked around the island, if he walked slowly, would keep him busy for about two hours. Two hours, in which the voices of Umbra would not reach him. Without this temporary means of escape, he wouldn't have made it this long, Kozmotis was sure. The Fearlings were not merely aggravating, but deeply unsettling. Their presence alone was enough to get to you, dragging your deepest fears from the darkest corners of your mind, until they rested right beneath the surface of your conscience. You could feel them, ready to take you over, but stepping out of that infernal prison, feeling the wind upon your face was almost cleansing, and with every step that took him further away from the grey door within the mountain, Kozmotis felt lighter, as if a great weight had been taken from him.
Three years were over, and there were maybe decades still to come.
More years went by, and Emily grew up to be a young woman. She had watched herself change in the only mirror in Typhan's possession, after she'd cleaned it from all the dust, and had to admit that she more and more resembled her mother, at least when it came to the facial features. Her hair was still black as night, and her eyes almost golden, and her face was maybe a bit longer than her mother's had been. All in all she seemed to have hit a balance between her father and mother, if she could still picture them correctly. It was almost fighting how much she'd forgotten; her family was still fairly clear in her memories, but all the others who had lived at the mansion. Had Thymos' rather distinctive scar been on the right or left side of his neck, where a house had bitten him once? Such details more and more slipped her mind; how much would she forget in the future?
Emily turned from the mirror and put her cloths on, most she had made herself out of robes Typhan had provided her with, in all shades of beige and white. She tied her long hair together, which was straight on top, yet getting wavy at the end. Somewhere behind the door she could hear the wizard search his way through the house with the help of a staff.
…
A few hours later they were outside again, the weather nice enough for late autumn, though the wind was keeping her hair in a horizontal position. Emily was sitting on the log of a tree that had fallen in a recent storm, a cube of clay in front of her on a tree stump. "Crèadh atharraich." She spoke with a hand reached out. Once she had needed both hands to guide whatever she was manipulating, but not nowadays her thought and one hand towards the object was all she required. The clay moved, rising, the lower half slimming, the upper getting broader. In less than five minutes the cube had turned into a goblet, ready to be burned.
Even though Typhan was blind, and had a white cloth tied around his head to hide his grey eyes, he could sense her actions, and nodded approvingly when she was done. With his fingers, he felt along the object, looking for bumps or cracks. He had told her that this exercise would help shape her own muscles during transformation, and during the past weeks she had turned this cube of clay into a vast variety of other, mostly household, objects.
"Good; I believe we can now continue with the next lesson." With that he took a small cage with a songbird in it, and placed it on the log. Emily had been wondering why he'd brought it along. "For the first time you will transform a living thing. Before you start worrying; I want you to merely change the color of its feathers had first. Later we will move up to size and only then species."
Emily nodded. "What color do you want it to have?"
"Is it brown now?" He asked.
"Yes."
Slowly he stroked his beard, before he answered. "Then why don't you turn it blue? Like the common kingfisher…and when I asked how you did, don't lie; I will know."
Emily smiled. "I wouldn't dream of it." As a matter of fact, the wizard was good in detecting lies just by the tone of her voice; apparently it went up. "Before we begin, may I take a little break, just so I can stretch my legs and freshen up?"
"Of course, Aemilia. I'll be waiting here."
"Thank you." She added an appreciative nod even though he couldn't see it, simply out of habit. Emily walked down to the beach, and took off her sandals, dipping her feet into the cool ocean water. The coolness rose up her legs, but it was refreshing rather than discomforting. For a while she simply stood there, eyes closed, listening to the waves and the seagulls. Soon her mind drifted off.
Somewhere far beyond the horizon was her home, and she couldn't help but wonder when or if she would ever see it again. Her father hadn't come for her, not in all these years, and though the chances had always been slim, he of all people should have found her by now. She had drifted with a small catamaran and found this island, while the High General Pitchiner with all his ships couldn't? No, it was very obvious to her now that he had abandoned her that she no longer played a role in his life. All these happy memories from their time together now only left a bitter taste. Well, he'd always been gone for long periods of time…maybe having her out of his life wasn't so much of a stretch for him after all.
Emily could feel the tears running down her cheeks; she had to admit that only a part of her could believe it. He had loved her, hadn't he? So many shared hours, so many laughs and embraces, gently kisses on her forehead when he'd tucked her in at night. "You promised me." She whispered accusingly into the wind, the tears still coming. "You promised you'd be back. You promised on your soul." Emily opened her now reddened eyes. "Why of all your promises, you had to break this one? Why didn't you come for me?" No one answered, but she wasn't surprised. In years her questions hadn't been answered; why should today have been any different?
She straightened herself, and wiped the tears away. Typhan shouldn't know she'd been crying again. While she appreciated his concern and his attempts to comfort her, she didn't want his pity. As she was about to turn around, something caught her eye. In that moment Emily had almost collapsed to her knees, when she saw a trireme sailing just around the treacherous currents. Had he finally come? Would she finally go home?
"Gaoth, cluinn mo gairm." And the wind carried the voices from the ship to her ears; intensely she listened to every word. With some disappointment she learned that they were only merchants on their way to Atlantis, and only because of the recent storm they'd come so far off course. Still they could get her off this island! Emily had to try and contact them, who knew when the next would show up, after all this was the first she saw since being washed up at this shore. She went further into the water. "Teine deàrrs."
A great green flame started burning in the palms of her hands, and she held them high, feeding more energy into the spell, so the fire could be seen even from the trireme. The wind still carried the words spoken onboard to her, and eagerly, anxious she waited for them to spot her, to turn around.
Not a single word indicated that she'd been seen, not even her flame reaching meters into the sky. Instead the trireme turned away, and grew smaller. "No!" No, they couldn't leave, she was right here! In her panic, in her frustration she screamed after them. "I'm here! Come back! Come…back." Defeated Emily lowered her arms, killing the fire, watching her one chance sail away.
No, she couldn't allow that. Why was she punished like that? Was this the Fates idea of humor? The next words, she screamed with all she had, with all defiance she had in herself. "Doineann agus dealanach, faigh mo riaghladh!" Her thoughts had turned violent, her feelings angry and hurt, and what she had summoned reflected its evocator.
The blue sky turned grey within seconds, the clouds thick and dark, looming now above the ocean, darkest over the trireme. Emily could no longer hear their voices, and no longer did she care, as she hid her face behind her hands, the tips of her fingers, clenching into her hair, as she let her pain crash upon her like a tidal wave. Lightning danced between the clouds, the thunder rolling ominously over the sea, and Emily didn't even notice how every hair on her body was standing up now. The clouds continued to grow, the wind picked up, fed by her rage and despair, supposed to carry the trireme to her.
Suddenly a single, tremendous lightning bolt cut through the sky downward, like a terrible, deadly tree of light. "NO!" Typhan grabbed her by the arms, turning her around, pulling her closer to him until they were face to face; he must have sensed her intensive usage of magic and come to check on her. "Stop this now!" There was panic, actual fright in his usually calm voice. The lightning struck, and briefly the ship disappeared in the intense light of the impact. Then thunder filled the air, booming in her ears, making both flinch.
She tore herself out of his grip, and looked upon what she'd done. Gods and goddesses…
There was no ship anymore, only a burning wreckage, carried by the stormy sea. What had she done?! Emily sank to her knees, not paying heed to the fact that she was still in the water herself, the waves now reaching up to her hip.
"Aemilia…what have you done?" Typhan's voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, as she stared at the flames in the distance in utter shock.
"I… I didn't mean to…I just…" She stammered, her own voice trembling almost as worse as her body. "I just wanted them to come back. I just wanted to go home."
He placed a hand on her left shoulder. "Aemilia; you have killed them…you've killed innocent sailors, for what?"
"I just wanted to go home." Emily simply repeated quietly, not having really grasped what he'd said. Her mind seemed to have frozen to a standstill, no other impressions of the outside world, except for the wreckage, could reach her now.
"Are you listening to me, girl?" Disbelieve and horror turned into anger. "How could you do this?" Typhan shook her roughly, bringing her out of her paralysis. "How? Why?"
Slowly she stood up, back still turned to him, eyes fixed on the same spot in the distance. "I thought I had no choice." Emily began. "I thought this would be my one way of this island, to finally go home, to find out what happened to my father…why he never came."
He held her shoulder tightly. "Listen to me, Aemilia; it is time you forget your father, so you can finally put your grief behind you. You will never find happiness in your life, if you hang on to such painful memories. Don't you think I have seen how they torture you?" Typhan told her, and Emily suddenly stiffened: how could she ever forget her parents, the two people she'd loved most in her life? "You must let go of your dreams, because there is not going to be a happy end, where you'll be reunited with him, and you can just pick up your life where you left off all those years ago. Focus on here and now, Aemilia, so you can have a future at all. I know it hurts, but here and now, I am here for you, and I will keep my promise, take care of you and teach you all I know."
Emily's mind and feelings were in turmoil, worse than the sea in front of her. "You think, you could replace him?" Angry tears streamed down her face, her hands clenched into fists, as she finally turned to him, and yelled with all she had. "YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER!"
Even the wind quieted down. Typhan looked at her shocked and hurt, as if she'd punched him and suddenly Emily regretted her words; he'd taken her in, comforted her in her pain and taught her so much throughout these years. She placed a hand on her mouth, but it was too late, she'd already said it.
It took him a while to find his voice, a tear running from his blind eyes under the cloth. "No, no you're right; I'm not. If you want it so much, you should go home, young one, just…go." His hand trembled as he raised it, his voice low, trying to cover his hurt. "Atharraich air seabhag."
Emily wanted to say she was sorry, but her words came out as a scream of pain. Every muscle cramped, her heart rate accelerated, blood pumping in her head, and every bone felt like it was breaking. She stared at her hands as feathers began to grow out of her skin, in light brown, gold and white, while her entire body shrank. Her cries turned animalistic, more bird than human soon, as she begged Typhan to stop, but her mouth couldn't form the proper words anymore, as it turned into a sharp beak. Her new wings clashed against the water surface, before they carried her up. She staggered, her flight anything but stabled, as she stared at her mentor in utter disbelieve. How could he do this to her? Without him she could never turn back!
"Whatever you're looking for, may you find it on another shore." Typhan spoke, the bitterness so heavy in his voice, the pain so plainly on his face. He waved his hand once, and a strong wind caught Emily beneath her wings, pushing her higher, pushing her away from the island.
…
Typhan couldn't see, but sensed her fading in the distance, carried away by the very storm she had created. All he'd done was giving her a little push. In this new form, Aemilia would be unable to cast any spell, and without controlling the elements, she would have to learn fast how to fly, or hope the storm would bring her to another island.
The old man lowered his head. It shouldn't have ended this way; she should have stayed and learn and overcome her grief eventually. Typhan realized that despite all he'd done, he'd not been able to ease her pain. She had only grown more introverted her thoughts always on the past. Could he have done more for her? It didn't matter anymore; she was gone and once more, he was alone.
It seemed cruel to have turned her into a hawk, knowing that she'd likely never be herself again, but perhaps, given time, she would forget she was human, perhaps she would finally forget her parents and her pain. Typhan sighted heavily; he was trying to justify his actions to himself. He had acted rashly, driven by his hurt, but now it couldn't be undone.
The waves continued to wash around his legs, his robe growing heavier from the absorb water, still he did not move, his blind eyes fixed at the raging sky. For a long time his thoughts about Aemilia and what had happened that day would plague the old hermit, even after she was long gone and his mind could not quite remember the sound of her voice.
Ombric looked up from his scroll, and out the window to his left. The sun was hiding behind grey clouds, though it wasn't raining yet, yellow and red leaves flying by. His gaze wandered downhill to the city, the white Atlantis, with its palace-like buildings and broad, tree-lined streets. Peace was becoming the realm; trade was flourishing once more, and the people returned to the islands, once devastated by the Fearlings, and rebuild. Everyone felt safer, now that the Dream Pirates were locked up, and the hero of that war, Lord Pitchiner himself stood watch over their prison. Especially the general public had the outmost trust into their former High General, and honored his noble sacrifice, giving his life for their protection.
While Ombric knew that his friend was certainly an honorable man, and the Archmage would be the first to step up to his defense against whoever said otherwise, he feared for him. Shalazar had not spoken in the council meeting, which had granted Kozmotis' request; at that point he'd already tried all he could to stop him, but Kozmotis was a stubborn man as well. Time would show who of them had been right, and Ombric prayed to all the divines he was wrong, and his friend had made the right decision. So far it seemed that way.
Every month Ombric would be the first to welcome back the supply ship, questioning captain and sage about Pitchiner's condition. And for years they'd told him he was fine, tired maybe, a little paler, but unchanged by the Fearlings haunting presence; some even claimed he was doing better. Whenever the supply ship came, it would stay for a night at Umbra, on which the former High General would join them for the evening, sharing their meal, take part in their conversation, even share a laugh now and then. Somehow he appeared to be, not happy but…contented. Such news greatly eased the sage's mind, though they would never erase all his worries.
The first drops of rain hit the window, before running down along the glass. Ombric was considering leaving Atlantis for a while, to travel beyond the borders of the realm to the continent. This library was full of scrolls, tablets, artifact and books from all over the world, and yet the wizard yearned to see it all for himself, not just in words and pictures, but with his own eyes. Who of the guild members had ever seen the wonders described within those texts, or the people who had writing them down? Ombric looked around in the great hall, to the massive shelves, each containing over a thousand scriptures, magic flames casting a soft light upon them; real fire was considered far too dangerous and was therefore banned from this building. So much time spent here, so much read, and all of the sudden it seemed unsatisfactory.
Very slowly and careful not to harm the old papyrus, Ombric rolled up the Egyptian scroll, its contents dedicated to Thoth, god of knowledge and wisdom, associated with the arts of magic, writing and the development of science among others. The Archmage was rather fond of him. Atlantians themselves did not have a set pantheon of gods, as their ancestors came from different cultural backgrounds and religions. Instead, the temple and the priesthood were dedicated to any divine being, be it Isis or Demeter or any other deity. Atlantians had come to believe that gods ruled over certain parts of the world, much like mortal rulers did, a reason why they mirrored the culture of their worshipers. You had Ra or Zeus at the top, the other gods acting as sort of staff or ministers, which was why each had his or her own field of expertise.
To avoid religious conflict, which would have certainly destroyed the young realm, the first Atlantians had simply called their realm a religiously neutral one, so everyone had been able to follow their own traditions and rites, as long as they didn't harm another's, and didn't break universal laws that had been stripped of any religious content. Most were fairly natural, like do not kill or steal, others had to be worked out, like the rights of women; in the end the more liberal approach of Egyptians had prevailed, and today woman enjoyed almost the same rights as men. Over generations, the religions had mixed together, which was why Atlantians tend not to refer to a single god or goddess, but use the general term divines. If you wanted a certain god's favor or blessing, you prayed to him, made an offering, and even if you didn't know what the god demanded as a sacrifice, the priests would be happy to assist you in your beseechment; on the other hand most houses, like the Constellations, had their own rituals and preferred certain deities. Ombric Shalazar himself favored deities associated with knowledge, though admittedly he found Athena questionable, considering the tale about her turning the poor priestess Medusa into a monster because Poseidon had raped her, and therefore broken the girl's vow of chastity, in the goddess' own temple.
Ombric returned the scroll to its place in the shelf, and got on his way back to his personal chambers. He would require time to plan and prepare his travels, set up a route, and find a ship that would bring him at least to the continent, preferably a vivid harbor. There was so much to consider; he would have to wait at least until winter was over, the storms making travel especially dangerous that time of year, and it was already autumn. Briefly Ombric mused if he was not leaving for exploratory reasons only, but to get away from something. Avowedly, he felt restless since the end of the war; he and his fellow sages had spent a decade coming up with new means to defeat the shadows, had imbued thousands of weapons with their blood to enchant them, gone into battle at times, even if he and Trismegistus hadn't been at the Erebus, still too weakened by the enchantment of the obsidian. Now however, everyone had returned to their peaceful studies, to the way it'd been before the war. Perhaps it was but the paranoia of an old man, yet Ombric had the feeling it wasn't over, not completely. After all there was the possibility there were Fearlings still out there, even on the continent. Who was to say they had all been in the Erebus the day, when Kozmotis had entrapped thousands. Could they even be gathering strength somewhere else?
Atlantis was safe for the time being, but Ombric needed to ensure himself that it would stay that way, and that no others suffered their wrath.
Very slowly, still very sleepily, Kozmotis opened his eyes, blinking at the soft light shining through the curtains. Amina smiled gently at him, framing his face with a hand. "Morning." She whispered, her wavy brown hair falling over the blanket and her bare back.
He smiled back, placing a hand on hers. "Morning, love."
She snuggled closer against him, against his chest, her head just underneath his chin, and he put his arm around her, as Amina did she same. "Hope I didn't wake you."
Kozmotis stroke endearingly over her shoulder, wiping away some of her hair. "You haven't; and even if, I wouldn't mind." Gently he kissed her. Somehow it felt like it had been an eternity since last he'd seen her. Had he been out on sea all that long?
"I'm so glad you here." Amina told him, once their lips had separated again.
"And I'm glad to be back."
Her fingers stroke his jaw, her touch soft and comforting. "You know, I have something for you, a gift just for this occasion."
"You didn't need to." Kozmotis told her kindly; if anything he wanted to do something for her, not the other way around. After all it was he, who constantly left her alone, here in their home.
She chuckled amused. "Can't I please my husband with a little something just because I want to?"
He smiled, remembering having said the exact same thing to her once; minus the husband of course. "Touché."
"If you want to see it, it's just behind that door over there." Amina told him, looking over his shoulder.
He turned his head. Had there always been a pentagram on that door? Had there ever been a second door in their bedchamber? He must have been gone longer than he thought. "Will you tell me what it is?" Kozmotis asked her, turning back.
"And ruin the surprise?" His wife asked in return. "Not on your life."
He pulled her closer to himself. "Then let us stay in bed a while longer. I'm certainly in no hurry to leave your side."
"Are you sure you don't want to open your present first?" Amina asked hopefully. "I have put so much thought into it."
For the first time Kozmotis frowned. "Usually you're the one insisting not to get up; you hate getting up early."
She shrugged. "I'm just excited."
Odd, Amina was always quite calm and patient compared to him. "I tend to be the one being overly excited about anything; if you take this from me, I don't know what I bring to this relationship." He joked.
"It's just a door, Kozmotis."
He froze. Amina never called him Kozmotis, unless she was angry she always called him Kozmo. Suddenly he had the feeling something was terribly wrong, and it dawned on him. "You're not here are you?" He asked, sadness in his voice and eyes as he looked at her, running his fingers over her cheek. She only smiled back at him, giving him no answer. "This is all a dream." Kozmotis concluded, a thumb touching her lips. "I've carried you out of the water, I held you in my arms…I saw you burn." He almost choked at the last words. Her skin became cool beneath his touch, and suddenly her hair was wet, clinging to her face, just like on the day she'd jumped into the bay. Ash fell from the ceiling like grey and black snow.
Then he heard the hissing, and the scene before him faded into darkness; he could almost feel the preying white eyes upon him, as his ears picked up the cold, sadistic chuckles that were all too familiar.
…
Kozmotis eyes opened, this time in the guardhouse, and he knew this was real. The anger boiled up in him, burning in every fiber of his body. He practically leaped out of his bed, taking the scythe, leaning against the wall, before storming out the bedchamber, into the main-room. It was winter and the fire had gotten out some time ago, the air freezing cold, but despite that he stood in front of the prison door, with no shirt, no shoes, only his pants. Every muscle of his body was tense, the knuckles of the hand holding the scythe white, the blade inches above the ground, the shaft going aslant across his back.
"You will stay out of my head!" Kozmotis snarled, his breathing heavily. He heard laughter from behind the door, and he slammed his free fist against the stone door, ignoring the pain from the impact. "You've killed her, I will not let you defile her memory as well, or I'll forget myself and have the sages end your existence once and for all!" The Dream Pirates couldn't know that he was lying, especially when he was holding a weapon they knew for a fact could extinguished them.
There was some hissing, but no reply, and it was quiet once more. Slowly Kozmotis' breathing calmed down, and he returned the scythe to its place at the wall, holding his hurting hand close to his body. Only now he noticed how cool it was this morning, and he started to shiver, every hair on his body standing up in a futile effort to keep him warm. He returned to his bedchamber and put his clothes on; thick dark leather boots with soft fur inside, a long shirt and a thick brown, leather cloak. The gloves were comparatively thin, but kept his fingers warm enough, as he got the fire started a minute later.
Once the fire burned lively, his gaze returned to the prison door. It was quiet now, but often enough during these past years, the Dream Pirates had begged him to open the door, begged for a breeze of fresh air Kozmotis knew they didn't need. He'd gotten used to their whining, ignoring it most of the time, but that they got into his head, and twisted his dreams…no, he would not let them get to him.
He would keep his promise.
The wind was strong, tearing at her new form, throwing her around in the air. Emily had no idea about flying, and she fought for control, trying to find out how she needed to keep her wings in order to actually have some influence to where she was going. She already knew she was losing this battle, and after hours she just let herself be carried by the wind. Had Typhan summoned it? Lightning struck far too close for comfort once again; it seemed either Thor or Zeus really hated her.
To her own surprise, Emily didn't really care where the storm would bring her. Even if she ended up on Atlantis, she would remain a hawk, unable to communicate with anyone, and her father…even if he was still alive, it was clear to her that he no longer cared. He'd broken his promise, he'd never come for her. And damn Typhan for doing this to her; couldn't she trust anyone?
How long she was trapped in that storm she didn't know, though it certainly felt like days had passed, until finally the wind lost strength. She lost altitude, and needed to flap her wings to keep herself flying, her new bird-muscles hurting like they were on fire and ready to snap apart. But beneath her wings, there was land. It was so much actually that she couldn't see the end of it, and for a moment Emily thought she was back on Atlantis.
But it couldn't be. Atlantis was a green island, with meadows, fields and forests, its towns and hamlets shining white, this land however was much drier, the grass yellow, and hardly any trees were around. Was this the mainland? As a child, Emily had wanted to see it, but not like this, not as a hawk, but together with her father, joining him on his travels to see all the places he'd told her about. She set those thoughts aside; she was tired, no exhausted, and needed to land, take a break. After that she could worry about food and water.
Soon Emily found an olive tree, with still plenty of leaves on it, and landed on an accessible branch. It took her a while to figure out how to angle her wings for the landing maneuver, but that got sorted out, and keeping herself close to the trunk, Emily quickly drifted into sleep.
…
She slept for a day straight, and awoke thirsty as well as hungry. Water was easy enough, after she'd found a river flowing into the ocean a short distance down the coast, but food... It wasn't the hunting that bothered her, but the eating of raw flesh or fish. She had the stomach to handle such food now, her mind however was still unwilling. Maybe, given time, she would forget that she was actually human and no longer care. Until then Emily needed to pull herself together, and do what she had to do.
Her first try was with a rabbit, but the small mammal was fast, and her claws only hit the ground. So many times she'd watched hawks hunt, how they dove from the sky upon their prey. Doing it herself was a different story, but at least it taught her how to fly. After an unsuccessful day of hunting, Emily came across a small village.
She landed on a roof and watched the people. Intensely Emily listened to their conversation, to figure out what language they spoke. It wasn't a language she spoke herself, but could identify; she was on the Iberian Peninsula, no doubt. What she also found was a fisher, who'd just returned from a hard day's work, with a net full of fish. As soon as the man had opened it, Emily flew down, grabbed a fish with her claws, just in front of the confused man's face and returned to her roof. Raw or not, the fish suddenly tasted better than anything else she'd ever eaten in her entire life.
Emily stayed for a few days, until her strength had returned. She had decided to head east, as she spoke and understood much of the Greek language. Even if she couldn't communicate, it would be nice to just listen and understand a conversation again. It wasn't much of a plan, but better than remaining in this small village. And trying to reach Atlantis from here, during the winter storms would have been suicidal anyway.
One morning Emily spread her white-golden wings, and flew off into the sun.
Chrysos sat down on a convenient rock, and took a sip of water. Today he was travelling alone, south of the great mountains, in a large forest, though still plenty of light reached the ground. Spring was once more coming, and fresh leaves grew on the trees, little flowers emerged here and there, while the birds sung brightly in the treetops above him. Chrysos had spent the winter in a town not far away, helping wherever a hand was needed to pay for accommodation and food. A nice family had offered him a bed, and while he'd greatly enjoyed living there, it was good to be back on the road.
For some time he just sat there, drank and ate a little of the bread he had with him, when he heard footsteps on the path he'd come. Chrysos turned his head to see a man, dressed like a hunter, a bow across his back, and a quiver at his side. "What's a boy doing here all alone?" He asked. Thankfully he spoke in a dialect the young priest understood.
Quickly Chrysos began to write on his tablet.
"Mute, eh? And from your cloth I'd say you're doing rather well. Why don't you spare a coin or two for a poor hunter?"
Chrysos stopped writing and frowned.
"Or maybe my friend can persuade ya."Chrysos froze when he felt a blade at his throat. A man had appeared out of nowhere behind him, smelling strongly like leather, fur and blood. "Nothing personal, but the winter has been tough on some of us." The hunter explained. "I'm just gonna help myself. Stay still and my friend won't need to do anything nasty we'd all regret."
The man took Chrysos' bag, who didn't dare to move. A few coins weren't worth his life. Of course this had to happen the one time he was alone. Oh fates, thy have a cruel sense of humor, he thought bitterly. Suddenly, while the hunter was still going through his things, there was a loud screech, and something light-brown shot past Chrysos' head. The blade was removed, and the man screamed in pain. Both Chrysos and the hunter looked at him, to see that a hawk was trying to peck his eyes out with claws and beak, its wings beating his head. The man swung his knife but missed and he started running away, blood streaming down his face.
Swiftly the hawk turned around, going straight for the hunter, who drew his own bronze dagger. Unfortunately he'd forgotten about Chrysos, who had his own blade. The young priest stabbed him in the foot, allowing the hawk to reach its target unharmed, as the hunter cried out in pain. He blindly hacked for the animal, but he too couldn't hit it, and as fast as his injured foot allowed, he retreated back the way he'd come.
Baffled, Chrysos watched the hawk, which now landed on a nearby branch, and started to wash its feathers. It was a beautiful bird, the feathers light brown, almost shimmering golden in the sunlight, the chest and insides of the wings however flawless white. The feathers on the back of its head were a bit longer, standing up a little, while the golden eyes regarded him attentive and intelligently. There was something really odd about this bird, and Chrysos bowed to convey his gratitude. Was the hawk not a sacred bird? Had the gods maybe sent it to save him?
He took his tablet, and wrote something on it in his native tongue. Whatever happens, don't be alarmed. It tilted its head, but Chrysos hadn't expected an answer. He closed his eyes and focused. Very carefully he stepped into its mind, and he heard it screech anew, this time surprised, maybe a little frightened. What he found out the moment he touched its mind was remarkable. "Don't be afraid." He told it. "But this is the only way I can talk, and understand you."
"You're in my head." She complained loudly.
He needed to calm her down, or she'd kick him out again; she had a very strong will, and magic ran in her veins. "Yes, and I'm sorry, but I'm not reading your mind or anything. I can only sense your conscious thoughts, and hear them as spoken words."
"You're a wizard." It was hard to tell whether she said this accusingly or relieved, certainly excited.
"No, but a priest of the Oneiroi with a gift." Chrysos explained, hoping she was familiar with his gods.
He could feel her frown. "And you can just enter people's minds?"
"Oh, I can do more. For example;" A kind smile spread across his face. "You're not a hawk at all."
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), Typhan, Dream Pirates/Fearlings/Nightmare Men
Atlantian Culture/Religion: I really didn't want to pick an ancient culture and simply make that to the ancestors of the advanced Atlantians, so I took something from several better known cultures; names inspired by Greeks, the system with two kings and a council inspired by the Roman Republic, architecture from both, the temple reminiscent of the Achaemenid Empire's architecture, and now a little Egyptian influence("author's note" below).
Given all I have read about history, I have gained the impression that back in the day, in ancient times, there wasn't the mentality: "I believe my god/gods exist therefore yours can't", and empires, like the Roman or the Achaemenid allowed even those they had conquered to further practice their religion, to varying degrees admittedly, and in the case of the Romans, some gods were simply added to their pantheon. Same happened on the Indian subcontinent; deities were assimilated, so one god would have different names and appearances but still be regarded as the same god, or they sometimes kept just adding to the list.
So, given that Atlantis was founded by members of several cultures with polytheistic religions, it made only sense traditions and believes would mix throughout centuries.
Ancient Egypt and women's rights: The ancient Egyptians viewed men and women, regardless of social classes, except for slaves (who could still buy and sell thing, and work their way to freedom), as essentially equal under the law. Both men and women had the right to own and sell property, make contracts, marry and divorce, receive inheritance, and pursue legal disputes in court. Married couples could own property jointly and protect themselves from divorce by agreeing to marriage contracts, which conditioned financial obligations of the husband to his wife and children in such a case. So compared with their contemporaries in ancient Greece, later Rome, and even more modern places around the world today, ancient Egyptian women had a greater range of personal choices, rights and opportunities. There were even a few female pharaohs, like Hatshepsut or Cleopatra.
Typhan: In the books, Typhan is described as a Constellation, who had control of many elements, caused storms on the stellar seas and was broken old man as well. In the context of this story it only made sense that he would be a wizard with such skills, and I gave him that grudge against the guild to give more reason why he's broken and yet willing to teach Emily.
Typhan changing Emily: In the books she stays with him for years, before he sealed her inside a shooting star; the latter obviously didn't work here, because it would have been difficult for her to meet Sandy in such a shape. Therefor I went with a hawk, since I needed to get her to Sandy, who is somewhere in the future Northern-Italy and these to Atlantians important animals have already been mentioned a few times throughout the story.
Spells:
Crèadh atharraich: crèadh=clay, atharraich=change
Gaoth, cluinn mo gairm: gaoth=wind/air, cluinn=listen to, hear, mo=my, gairm=call/shout
Teine deàrrs: teine=fire, deàrrs=to shine/beam/gleam
Doineann agus dealanach, faigh mo riaghladh: doineann=storm, agus=and, dealanach=lightning,faigh=accept, riaghladh=control/guidance/rule/reign
Atharraich air seabhag: atharraich=change, air=in/to/with, seabhag=hawk