The Apocalypse Duet

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This is the first chapter of the first book in a duet that I am doing. It is my first non-FR, so the world is all my own. Be sure to point out anything that I might have accidently copied, and give me some reviews on whatever you think! I really think I can get into this story enough to finish it.


BOOK 1: Birth by Volcano


CHAPTER 1: Althea of the Dawn


“And the dawn shall rise on the third hour of the third day of the third month of the third year of the reign of the Third Emperor. And that dawn shall herald the rise of a shining red star that across the sky of the world shall be seen, itself foretelling the coming of the Apocalypse. As the star reaches its height, the Apocalypse shall come unto its birth, and destruction shall become Emperor. Much shall change, and little can be done to slow its baneful power.”
- A Prophecy of the Blind Kalamaro, before his Speechless Days


Althea awoke with a crick in her neck, penance for her wild sky dancing the night before. She yawned and stretched, shifting out of her silken bed to touch the cool marble floors with bare pink toes. She did a little shriek at how cold the floor truly was, and scouted around blindly with her foot to find the feather soft slippers under her bed. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and reached for the silvery basin of warm water placed freshly by her bed earlier by servants, whilst she was still asleep.

She stripped of her meager nightgown and washed everywhere she could reach, getting herself refreshed and ready for the day coming. Her pure black hair, so out of place in her people, would have to remain tangled until she could find a comb – they were always going missing for her.
There came a knock at the hardwood door, and she hastily scrambled for some covering.

“A moment, please,” she called, and ran for her closet, set in the curving wall of the round room. A fine crimson robe was selected and she donned it quickly, but not so much that it could become entangled. “Enter,” she entreated.

A scholarly male stepped inside, and closed the door behind him, approaching Althea with a kind look. “You have slept in today, fair Althea,” he commented. He stopped to draw a large but thin tome from his voluminous purple robes. “The book you requested has become available, and I hastened to make sure you had priority of it – so many wish to know of the prophecies of Old Kalamaro. These days, it seems that it is almost a necessity.”

Althea wandered over and took the leather-bound book from him and stroked its cover reverently. “Thank you indeed, Sir Valedic, I’ll treasure the book each moment it’s in my care. You are too kind to spare time from your library to bring it to me personally.” She gave him one of her famed smiles, he grinned back, despite the heavy folds his face had to make to accustom itself to the unknown movements.

“You’re quite welcome. Anything for the One with the Heart of Gold. Before I return to my dusty studies, is there anything else you require?”

“Yes, actually. Don’t go out of your way at all, but I’d like to know if any more ambassadors have arrived.” She gave him another smile, and, despite what she had said, she knew the kindly old male would do anything it took to get the information.

“Not a problem, I shall see to it on my way back, and send you a messenger lad.” He bowed slightly, ignoring the scraping of his stiff spine, and left the room.

Althea returned to her bed and pulled up the sheets, preparing for a little bit of reading in comfort. Valedic certainly was a kindly old male, and she appreciated his efforts. She shifted against the backboard of the bed, making room for her wings. She would enjoy reading this book, however gruesome some of the predictions may have been.

The tome, The Prophecies of the Blind Kalamaro, in the Days of his Speech, was a much sought after book, especially with the impending events. She skipped through the first half of the book and went to the prophecies of modern times. There it was – the entries on the Apocalypse.

Contrary to the beliefs of many civilizations her people had come into contact with, the Apocalypse was not the end of the world. No, that would happen two billion years hence. The Apocalypse was merely the turning point in life, when everything would figuratively turn to something new. The Apocalypse would be a time of change, and though change often entailed killing and violence, it was not necessary. The prophecy did state that there would be destruction, but it did not say how much. Prophecies were always like that, subject to the unforeseeable state of the times, and the actions of individuals. Nobody could prevent the Apocalypse, but they could prevent it from becoming too devastating.

She yawned and placed the book off to the side and looked up into the heights of her room. She clambered out of bed and stretched her feathery white wings in the sunlight that streamed in through the open roof. Slowly, she beat her wings, and the innate magic of her people amplified each movement. Soon, she was soaring up and outwards, into the blue, blue sky and its fluffy wisps of pearly clouds.

A strong acrid smell reached her nostrils, and she spotted a drift of black smoke in the vicinity. She knew it was nothing to worry about, as the smoke was from the volcanoes, far below. They were active, but it was only very rarely that they sent up smoke like this, and even more rare when they actually erupted. It would be during these times that her people, the winged elves of the Noraniil, would guide their floating cities and temples out over the vast ocean, where they could safely and peacefully watch the fantastic fiery patterns of the volcanoes fill the air.

A wisp of smoke was no cause for alarm, especially when the pure joy of gliding through the sky waited. She caught a thermal updraft of heat from the lands below, lifting her higher into the sky, hanging there in unadulterated bliss. Another Noraniil, this one a male, an elfe, came upwards, seeking her lofty position.

“And what are you doing out so early?” Althea laughed as she recognized the blue robes of the elfe. Noticing how the blue cloth fluttered in the wind, she realized that she herself only had a crimson robe on, and that it would not do for her to let it loose.

“Out for a refreshing flight, just as you are, I’m sure,” came the reply. The elfe knew that Althea would not turn him away, no matter how little clothing she had. The sight of the crimson billowing in the wind nearly drove him mad, but he knew how to restrain his feelings. He knew she felt nothing for him, regardless of how much he felt for her. Zotikos was an elfe of honor, just as the code of his family dictated. He was a member of the Moon clan, and they knew just how much honor was truly worth. Althea was a member of the Dawn clan, and her family, a noble family; felt that pure joy was the only thing worth pursuing.

“Ah, Zotikos, you know that’s not what I meant. You are not a morning person like I am. The only reason you would come out this early is to meet someone, and you and I are the only ones in the sky right now.”

“Perhaps I am waiting for someone,” he teased. “A girl that truly appreciates me.”

“Or perhaps you’re making up excuses and can’t get up the nerve to – catch me!” With those last two words, she folded in her wings and dove straight down, black tresses flying wildly in the strong wind. Zotikos laughed and followed, glad that at least he had her friendship. He went down in circles, not daring to attempt the dive his friend had made. It was one of the things that made the two clans so different – their regard for danger and safety.

As he swooped downwards in lazy circles, making her wait, he reflected that was not entirely devoted to safety and reason, as were the elders of his family. He was one of the few who engaged in the martial arts, training in the ways of unarmored battle with a single sword. He was well into his training to become a Sword Saint, one who was at peace with their inner self and could use the silver blade to perfection. But that was nothing compared to the dangers Althea dabbled in.

He felt the slim silver sword by his side, never gone, as a Sword Saint should never be parted from their weapon. But the sword was insignificant against the power of the magic Althea was learning to use. She was one of the few apprentice sorcerers in all of the land of Quar-Ulou, the continent on which they lived. There was a Master Sorcerer for each of the magical arts, with apprentices only for those who were getting well on in their lifetime. Noraniil could live up to a millennium, and yet Althea was still young. She was fortunate that the old elfe was getting to the end of his ninth century, or there would never have been an opening – or she was unfortunate, depending on how you viewed the strange and volatile magical arts.

He didn’t know which of the arts it was that Althea’s tutor was Master of, but he suspected it might be auramancy, the magic of air, as the master was a Noraniil elfe living in a flying city.

She was in front of him now, balanced on the edge of the circular wall of her room, smiling up at him and holding a small ball of energy in her hand. He flared his white wings for a stop and quickly drew his sword as she hurled the ball up at him. He struck at it, the silver blade cleaving it in two, and the magic dissipated. He pulled in his wings and glided down to balance on the wall beside her, grinning at his foiling of her attempt. She was not smiling.

“I can’t believe I’m still so weak!” She muttered. “I thought I had perfected that spell, and yet you batted it away like it was nothing.” She shifted her sleek wings in the sign of distress.

“In all fairness, it is a fairly powerful sword. What kind of spell was it?” He asked, hoping to bring her out of her depression and onto her favorite subject.

“An emotional spell. It would have made you ticklish all over,” she grumped. “It would have been such a funny joke to watch you squirming around trying to scratch the tips of your wings and remain flying at the same time.” She crackled a small smile at her own words.

He put a calloused hand on her smooth, bare arm. “It’s alright. You only need more practice. That’s why you’re the apprentice, and… he is the Master.”

“Do you even know what ‘his’ name is?” She asked, beginning to get a little angry and defensive.

“Ah…”

“That’s what I thought. His name is Rheasyne. Don’t forget it.”

“Mistress? Where are you?” Came an echoing voice from down below. Althea looked up at Zotikos, a little more friendliness in her eyes.

“I’ll talk to you again, later.” She stated. “I have a message that I was expecting.” She stretched, revealing a flash of smooth stomach beneath her crimson robes and fluttered down the open roof and landed softly on the marble floor. Zotikos nodded to himself and flew away, hoping to get some food in his belly before the kitchens of the Moon clan closed for the morn.


“Father, I received a missive that the new ambassadors have arrived,” Althea sang out.

Her father seemed to grimace at her words from his hardwood desk. “I don’t know why you so enjoy meeting people from below. We are a people, and we belong among the clouds with our own kind. But, if it gives you joy… They are seated in the main audience chamber, as usual, and are being entertained by your mother.” He gestured limply towards a side passage with a thick carpet roll denoting its importance. “Come around a little later, I hardly ever see you any more. You’re always flying or visiting other people, and you know how happy it makes me to see you.”

“As long as you’re not too busy,” Althea said, and fluttered forward to peck a kiss on her father’s cheek. She was truly content with her life, unlike many other elves who were always complaining that things didn’t go their own way. Even those that didn’t complain hadn’t the life of pleasure Althea led. She was not pampered, which often led to spoiling, and neither was she kept on a tight leash; her parents had seemed to have struck the perfect medium.

“Mother Faerlin, are these the ambassadors?” She called as she glided into the room, her toes skimming the carpet to give direction. Her mother turned around, black hair swirling as she faced her excited daughter. Of all the Dawn clan, the mother and daughter were the only ones to have black hair, the striking elven trait that denoted magical talent. Althea was lucky enough to have been able to tap her magic; her mother had not.

“Ambassador Pyrena, Ambassador Virdochan, I would like to present my daughter, Althea. She has a great interest in meeting people from other races.” Faerlin put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, placing her thumbs at the bases of Althea’s wings to warn the girl to be polite.

“How do you do?” Asked the woman of the red-haired duo.

“Very well… thank you,” Althea replied at the increase in pressure from the thumbs. “I am sorry if I interrupted anything, but the sight of new people overwhelmed me. I hope I might have time to walk and talk with you later.” She bowed to them, forcing her mother to give up her hold on Althea’s shoulders. She turned around, giving her mother a strange look, and left the room. She wondered what on earth about the ambassadors had made her mother fearful enough to use her thumbs.

Out in the hall, her father was gone, but his quill was still fresh with black ink. He would be back. Deciding to use his absence to her advantage, Althea pressed against the wall and focused her hearing on the conversation within. Elves weren’t known for spectacular hearing or other senses, but when focused, they could rival that of any race on Quar-Ulou.

“I’m sorry for my daughter’s intrusion. She is still young, only just past her first century.” Her mother was speaking, but muffled snorts of amusement of were heard from the audience chamber, courtesy of the ambassadors laughing at Faerlin for calling a century ‘young.’

“We do not mind,” the woman ambassador named Pyrena said, though her voice betrayed otherwise. “We know how the young can easily be excited.”

Faerlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“But if we may get back to the previous order of business…” the man named Virdochan offered. Faerlin had evidently nodded, as the human went straight on. “Commerce between your country, Olarstia, and ours, Siltht, is now virtually non-existent. Our masters back home wish to strike up a little trade agreement, just to get things moving once again and to foster new friendships. We have attempted to trade with our southern neighbor Jusaja, but such attempts have been in vain, as their fractured states continually sabotage each other, even maiming trade caravans from our own cities. This is not acceptable – we would prefer to trade with much more civilized beings then the desert men, and you… Nora neel?”

“Noraniil.”

“Yes. You Noranyl are much preferable. But before we strike up an agreement, I would like to be assured that we will only be dealing with the Dawn clan… until relations are such that we can deal directly with the Emperor’s House.”

“Of course, Ambassador Virdochan. You have our word of honor that we will deal only with you, and you will deal only with us.” Faerlin replied placidly.

“Excellent, though it is my knowledge that only the Moon clan is truly known for their honor.” He paused as Faerlin made some reaction. “Er, yes. Anyway, I understand that the Noranyl have need of trade in food products. And… I believe you mentioned soil?”

“That they did,” put in the female Pyrena. “Do not ask them to repeat themselves. They need soil for the gardens and their own limited food sources. However, I would like to suggest that in addition to your proposed trading of magical devices, books, marble, and light, you might add some of that food product. Not so much that you would neglect yourselves, but we of Siltht are always interested in exotic foods and delicacies. The treats you offer would fetch top price, and we would be able to trade more.”

“Indeed. Much though I hate to give up any of our hylirri roots, such trade does make sense.”

“And, ah,” put in Virdochan, “there is another commodity I would like to discuss. It is very valuable, as we in Siltht have to trade with others, and there are few in our country that, ah, choose to do so. I speak, of course, of slaves, from south Ronamdan and Jusaja.”

“SLAVES?” Althea’s mother nearly shrieked. There was panting as she tried to control herself. “No. I am sorry, but we will not deal in slaves. They are not a ‘commodity.’ Anyway, it is nearly high sun, and lunch will be served shortly. If you would care to accompany me…”

“No, thank you. I’m afraid we must wait for your esteemed husband Vanwyry. We have other matters to attend to besides commerce.”

“Very well. We will conclude the deal later.” Faerlin said crisply. “I will send sla – servants around with the refreshments when they are served.” There was the sound of ruffling feathers and Faerlin evidently left via the roof.

“You should not have broached the subject of slaves like that, Virdo. You should have waited until alcohol could’ve been served.” The voice of Pyrena sounded different when she thought she was alone. It almost seemed to burn the very air, crackling with spiteful undertones.

“I did what I thought was necessary. She will now dwell on the subject, becoming either greatly opposed to it, or greatly intrigued by it. I will see to it that she becomes the version in our favor.” Virdochan’s voice sounded different, too. It was if they had both been putting on false manners to win the deal.

Althea’s now sharp ears heard the sound of light footsteps coming down the marble hall, signaling her father Vanwyry’s return. Althea hurried away down the other end of the hall, just skimming the floor as her wings fluttered to keep her going away silently. She did not like these new ambassadors, and she was determined to see them gone. No slaves would ever enter, or leave, the Noraniil city of Rodnlith on her watch.


“They are slavers, though the books on their country describe them as not so,” Althea explained, gently. She was seated in a very deep and comfy armchair with special cutouts on the back to accommodate the wings of the species.

“Althea Dawn, you ought to know not to listen in on other people,” Valedic sighed. “Despite what others way think of you, you are not young. You are now into your second century, and into the maturing years. Such exploits should be beneath you.” He turned to a bookshelf and tucked away a particularly dusty old manual. “Worry not about the dealings of your parents. They are honest folk and can tell the hidden secrets of humans such as they. Your focus should be on preparing for the Apocalypse, as your brethren are throughout the city.”

“The Apocalypse… it’ll be on the third day of next month, yes? What can I possibly do to prepare?”

“Read the prophecies, get your affairs in order, arrange things in case of your death… the list is endless. You have yet to realize the importance of planning ahead. The elves of Rodnlith have been preparing for the past fifty years, and you are just starting three weeks beforehand. We know precisely when it will occur, unlike many of Kalamaro’s other, elusive prophecies, so you should be ready.”

“That’s another thing that bothers me.” Althea dangled her feet in the air, catching the small currents that always coursed through the house. “His prophecies are always subject to different interpretations, and nobody ever seems to get it right. Are we sure that it will occur when predicted? Perhaps Kalamaro meant something else. Perhaps the Apocalypse will not be as serious as thought.” She sighed and looked up.

Valedic pushed his half-moon glasses back up his sharp nose and stared down at her thoughtfully. “However right you may be, it does not hinder you to prepare anyway. What if it does happen as predicted, and you are not ready? Just a lost leaf in a mighty gale?”

“This leaf knows the ways of the world and the currents by which it sails,” replied Althea. Her scarlet eyes glittered as she regarded one of her oldest friends, greatest teachers, and wisest companions. She didn’t know what would happen, and she was sure he didn’t either. That was one of the things that made the Apocalypse so fearful, a secret black hole of fear in her heart. Nobody knew for certain, and once they did, the course of events could shift rapidly away from what was anticipated. The gnawing pain of doubt and uncertainty was what truly got her fears up. As an apprentice mage, she wanted to know everything. Things should be able to be predicted and held strong to formulae and rules. Things should be able to be controlled.

She brushed her black hair away from her face and behind her small pointed ears. Her younger days had been so carefree, and now everything was getting complicated. She suspected that things were do to become much more complicated in the future, and the thought didn’t help her worries one bit.

Leaving the large cylinder library through the roof, she decided to reflect on the day’s problems through flight. The late winter breezes seemed different now, much harsher than they had during the morning’s flight. Worries clouded her thoughts and feelings, making her completely ignore the greetings of Zotikos. She just drifted through the air, wings beating occasionally, and considering her fate.

She swooped away from the silent elfe and went to find the one place where her mind could focus. She needed to find the Wizard’s Hold, and her Master Rheasyne.


The Wizard’s Hold was far different from the other buildings of the floating city. Rheasyne’s home was like a fungus on the side of the Emporer’s House, a club growing out of a great, silver, open-topped tree. Althea flapped her wings to land on the top of the growth, onto a red mat set there specifically for her. At this position, all the winds that blew through the city passed over her. North winds whistled through her hair, south winds blustered about her body, west winds blasted her sides, and east winds drifted around the Emporer’s House to playfully tug at her robes.

It was a spot of contemplation, where she could sit in silence, in a place where nobody would ever dare to disturb her. It was a place where the incredible magic below spurted out of vents to simultaneously calm her mind and drive her to a frenzy of eclectic delight. She sat cross-legged on the mat, her wings folded up tightly. Her long hair whipped about, almost as if creating a protective shield about her. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out.

Her mind calmed to its most fundamental state, and she began to meditate. The Apocalypse was nigh, that much was certain. Change would come, and the entire world would never be the same. People would die. People would be born. Such was the way of things.

In fact, was change not the way of things? Change was the law of the universe. The universe was a chaotic place, but chaos is nothing unless tempered by order. Order is stagnant without being encouraged by chaos. Just as good and evil, the forces of order and chaos could not exist without the other. The Apocalypse was nothing to be feared. As long as she was ready, everything in order, the Apocalypse would change her, but she would be ready, anticipating each change as it came. It was the way of the universe.

“You have learned a valuable lesson,” came a voice.

Althea opened her eyes, and there was her Master Rheasyne, standing tall in the raging winds. The air was picking up speed now, a sure sign of a storm coming, and yet the elderly elfe could still stand straight-backed against the furious torrents of air. Strange, as it was not in his magic. Rheasyne was not a Master of Air.

“You read my mind?” She asked, gently. Somehow, even above the howling winds, her voice could be heard, just as she could hear his.

“No. You said it out loud.” He drank in her incredulous stare. “You spoke to those who would listen. To those who know the words.” The sky was getting darker behind him, a black thunderhead was building up. “You have learned two things. How to communicate to those who need to know, and that the ways of the world are best left to their own devices. I, myself, have foreseen that I will die during the Apocalypse. How, I do not know. Does it matter? Accept what is your lot and learn to go with the flow of the wind. Like a single leaf… in a gathering storm.” His matter-of-factness took Althea completely by surprise. “Come inside. You will surely catch your death of cold when the clouds cover the city.” He drifted down through the solid marble ceiling of his home and nodded to Althea.

The apprentice mage gasped at his disappearance and stood up to the wind. Her mistake. The gusts tore her off the ledge and into the raging winds. Like a lost leaf. Battling to get back to the safety of the Hold, she beat her wings frantically. The magic of the elves strained to keep her going forward, and she only barely managed to reach the underside of the growth, to the entrance hole.

Like a diver arriving in a cave through an underwater passage, she burst through the entrance and lay gasping on the plush floor, struggling to keep her consciousness.

“You should have followed me down, instead of taking the long route.”

“How… h-how could I? I have not yet attempted that magic!”

“It was not magic. It was focus of the soul. Your friend Zotikos could surely tell of such a thing. He is a Sword Saint, yes? Their lives depend on their swords and their focus. If your will is strong enough, and your mind fortified, you can easily do as I have done. The fact that you had not realized so is evidence enough that your mind was not truly focused up there. Perhaps you haven’t learned your lesson as fully as you should have.” The ancient elfe padded along the carpeted marble floor to his dining table. “Come, you must be starving, having missed your main meal.”

Althea staggered over, still bedraggled from her beating at the merciless hands of the wind. She seated herself at the side of the table and began to dig in, ravenously savaging the plates of fowl and sprouts, cheeses and breads. She greedily quaffed a large beaker of fine red wine, slowing down only to savor the taste of hylirri roots. She gently nibbled on some black olives, treats that were rare to have been saved from the previous summer’s harvest.

“Taste the food, child. Your stomach is not full unless your mind is content.”

Althea forced herself to slowly grind to a halt in her ministrations. She felt a flash of pain as her bloated stomach made its cries of mercy heard. She collapsed back in the chair, slowly sipping a glass of elderly white wine. “This has been such a day of turmoil.”

“And it yet may be,” Rheasyne replied. “The day is only half over, and the tribulations are just beginning. Have you anything to tell me of this morning… or do I already know?”

“You should know. I spoke to those who would listen.”

Rheasyne chuckled softly to himself. “You did learn. Yes, I know of your eavesdropping. And unlike Sir Valedic, I deem it appropriate. There is more to those two humans of Siltht than meets the eye, I am certain. They are staying at the Crossroads, and I would think it worthy of your talents to investigate them there.”

He was referring to the Crossroads Inn, a large building built specifically for housing guests of other races. No proud elf or elfe would ever enter there to stay the night, preferring his or her cylindrical room in their house complexes. Of course, during the storm now raging about them, the open roofs would be sealed by their own magic, becoming wrapped cones to the outside world.

“What talents do you refer to?” Althea asked curiously. “I am not versed in espionage, however good you might think me from listening in on the humans.”

“You have Talent, girl. Magical Talent. I have seen you when you are truly at peace and can focus your magic. Just think of calming your soul. Focus your will like a Sword Saint, focus your mind like an elf, and focus your magic like the mage you are and yet may be!” There seemed to be a glittering in his eyes, almost maniacal, as if everything depended now on his conviction in the prowess of his student.

“I am the Chronomancer. You are the Apprentice. Draw in your mind and comprehend the power you are beginning to tap in to. Soon, all of time will be at your fingertips! Feel the flow of the Fourth Dimension through your mind, feeling the echoes of what has happened, what is happening, and what yet may come to pass. You can hear them, can’t you? Murmuring in the back of your mind, like distant whispers, nay, weak leaves carried on a distant wind. Control that wind; force it to slow down so you can understand. Speak the words I taught you. I shall burn the incense; I shall make the motions.”

Althea was surprised by his confidence in her to listen to Time. Hesitantly at first, her mouth began to rasp out the ritual words. Flickering flame and smoke rose from her Master’s hands as he wove them through the air in intricate patterns. Suddenly, she found the courage and confidence to speak the words.

“Fror hakaset rtenguilan qetmorikineth gnagulantrek, vravbnato cartenevrek vrav benetio fror guilan hajinekeron…” The glowing tracings of the Chronomancer began to darken, dragging the light of the dining room down with it. Althea rose from her chair and held forth her arms, willing the mist to creep up and along them. Fiery shocks ran along the tendrils of smoke, jolting into her arms. “…rafravnt bakadne wtragalabloo nokraas…” Her dark hair began to glow, different shades per strand. The light of Time was in her eyes. “…brava bakadne.” The sound of a lightning flash came from outside.

Before her eyes, the world seemed to shift. A thrill of excitement coursed through her spine as she realized she was doing something for the very first time. She was seeing the echoes of Time.

“…and so, in conclusion, we understand…”

“…would you like a glass of…”

“Finally, the stench is out…”

“…gods bless you…”

“…they will make adequate slaves…” As Althea’s mind shifted through the endless babbling dialogue, she finally heard what she was listening for. The sounds began to slip away, and she desperately grasped at them within her mind, struggling to hold on to the voices of Pyrena and Virdochan. In her mind, their images began to focus, and she found that she could listen to them quite easily.

“Though these ‘elves’ are weaklings, they will make adequate slaves in the fire pits,” Pyrena said in her strange, fiery voice. Althea knew that the humans of Siltht lived in underground chambers, alongside the volcanic forms prevalent in the northern parts of Quar-Ulou, but she had not heard of the ‘fire pits.’

“Yes. Master Blaze will be pleased with this new source. With the new trade between Siltht and Olarstia, it will be easy to infiltrate and take them unawares. And to think, they believe they are trading with a foreign nation, when they really are dealing with a threat present right under their own precious flying cities!” Virdochan began to convulse with laughter, and his face began to glow red in Althea’s vision. But he quickly recovered, and his face turned back to regular human tones.

“This inn stinks, though,” the woman commented. “It will be good for a preliminary front when we finally get operating. Our own little cesspit, ready to spread the plague of slavery throughout this pathetic city of elves.” She sighed. “Anyway, enough talk of this. Though I doubt they’re even capable, we must be on the lookout for elf spies. What do you think they serve, besides disgusting roots and cheese? Perhaps a little nice roasted elf?” She snorted.

Althea felt queasy at the idea, then relaxed her mind, letting the images and sounds of time fade from her thoughts. Her mind focused back on the real world, and she suddenly felt even sicker. Staggering over to the windy entrance hole, she vomited up the contents of her stomach, exposing her meal to the windy world below.

“What did you learn?” Rheasyne knew exactly what had gone on, but he wished to know what the ‘young’ elf had gleaned from the conversation.

“I learned that they must be stopped.”


Althea wandered around her chamber in the Wizard’s Hold, collecting small scraps of paper and bits of this and that, hoping they might come in use in the coming confrontation. Something within, something secret yet erudite, told her that these humans from the fiery lands below would not be interested in talking over their plans with her. She was preparing for battle.

She went over all the spells she knew, reciting them through her head. Combat magic was rare in her small repertoire, but she knew some spells that could stop them. If it came to a fight to the death, however, she didn’t know if she would be ready. Basic spells, not proper chronomancies, were of little use against foes such as these.

“You actually feel fighting will work here?” The Master Chronomancer asked casually from the doorway. “You are not ready. That spell of seeing, a true time spell – it only worked because I helped you with it. Your mind is focused, your soul is ready, but you are not powerful. You have never killed, and you have no knowledge of what kind of evil you could be up against. You have no knowledge of evil at all.”

Althea spun around, for the first time a little angry with her master. “I know evil. These humans may be new and different, but don’t talk to me of knowing evil.” She snarled to herself and grabbed a long dagger from the wall. “I can kill them; I know how wicked they are.”

“You know evil? Tell me.”

“It is difficult. I once fell in love during childhood, and it turned out that that love was just a front.”

“You sound like a victim of a bored lover, not an evil monster of fire.”

“I said it is difficult. He was not a lover, however you might put it. Besides the fact that we were both only children, he turned out to be a heinous monster, ignoring everything else in his greed for power.”

“Do I know of whom you speak?” The Master was looking at Althea curiously, suspecting whom she was speaking of.

“If you know him, then you would not ask such a question. Listen to my soul, if it desires to speak with you right now. He was an introduction to a tainted world that I had never known existed. He showed me the reflection within, the mirror opposite, yet very alike. He had black hair. He had scarlet eyes.”

“Just as you do. Yes, I know of whom you speak. But he is long gone now. Dead as any elfe can be, and far from the grace of the Trinity.” Rheasyne paused for a moment. “If you desire to fight these two ‘ambassadors,’ then I will not stop you. But you must take these two gifts from me, some things that I was saving, but you seem to be on the verge of the lessons they represent.” He held forth a silver hair clasp and a silver bracelet.

Althea stepped forward and took them reverently in her hands. She knew the power of the bracelet, and she could only assume the power within the clasp was similar due to association. The Silver Bracelet, containing the power to enhance a person’s magic powers, was actually in her possession. She saw it as a sign that her Master did not fully trust her own powers, and a sign of his care for her. She looked the old elfe in his gray eyes and smiled, not knowing whether he had intended the gifts in love or in anxiousness.

“Thank you. But… what does the hair clasp do?”

“Focuses your mind, something a Chronomancer needs.”

“But I am not a Chronomancer – only one can exist at a time.”

“You will be soon enough. Beware of the other magiks, and watch out for your own life. Don’t put yourself in the place of another; don’t foolishly sacrifice. It is not selfishness, it is the simple fact that you must live.” The old elfe looked suddenly far more elderly and lined than he usually did. “Take your friend with you, Zotikos, and be careful. If you wish to withdraw from battle, simply call out to Time, and I will hear. He turned around and strode out of the room without another word. It was the last time Althea would ever see Rheasyne, the Master of Chronomancy.


“There it is!” Zotikos called out. Althea was flying alongside him, very detached within her silent mask of thought, paying no attention to the gray clouds soaking her crimson robes, making them cling to her damp skin. The firm, smooth skin that drove Zotikos insane each time he viewed her. She had never stated her reasons for denying him the opportunity to know her as more than a friend, but he suspected it had something to do with the way his gaze alighted upon her. He was reverent of her, even beyond the three patron goddesses of the Noraniil.

In the civilization of the elves, the Trinity of the Three Goddesses was paramount. Govya, the goddess of all the winged elves, was the head of the Trinity, served by her Left Hand Servanya and her Right Hand Berenyo. The goddesses Servanya and Berenyo respectively embodied the peaceful and the destructive aspects of nature. They particularly represented the peace and power of the air and wind, but neither was good or evil. Govya was the source of goodness for the elves.

Rodnlith, as the capital of the small Empire of Elves, had temples to all three goddesses, and the Crossroads Inn was relatively near to that of the Temple to Berenyo, about halfway between the Emperor’s House and the temple. The Sword Saint nervously fingered his long silver blade, truly hoping that he would find no cause to wield it. Althea seemed so bent on destroying the two ambassadors that Zotikos was afraid she’d bring down the entire inn. Or at least try. Though, from what he had seen of her powers, she was likely to get arrested for aggravated assault, rather than the murder she sought.

“You do realize this murder, correct?” He asked her, acting on his thought. “The guard will not look kindly upon this.”

“They are evil, slaving scum. The guard will be glad to be rid of their presence. The city will thank us for ridding it of this taint.”

“Somehow, I think that the city will do less than thank us,” Zotikos muttered.
Althea steadfastly ignored him, calling on the power of her bracelet and brooch. She would be ready. Time spells would not be needed to destroy these fiends, weaklings as they were. For who but weaklings would hide and plot to gain slaves? “Descend.” She commanded. On her own words, she brought in her wings, damp and gray in the gloomy sky, and dove down to land softly before the door of the establishment.

She almost laughed at the primitiveness of the place. It was designed for outsiders, people from across Quar-Ulou, and as such was not made up of the standard marble columns of Noraniil architecture. The place was made of wood and had a door, for the Triad’s sake! Normally she would have relished the chance to enter this place, to get to meet so many people from so many places and races. She had done so a few times past, and made quite a few friends. But none of those friends had ever written to her once they had returned home. She opened the door and stepped in. Well, none but one.

“Althea! I had hoped I would run into you when I decided to come!” A friendly voice erupted from the light clientele, and a jolly gloedar strolled forward to greet her. The blue imp-like creature had an enormous belly that shook with every bounding step. Blue tentacles that swooped down its back from its shoulders leapt up and began to dance as its excitement rose and it shook her hand.

“Glowy, splendid to see you again,” she said with as much vigor as she could muster in her dark state. She had always called him Glowy, ever since their first meeting thirty years previous, because she could not even begin to pronounce his real name. Gloedari were strange creatures that lived halfway between the real world and the spirit world. Being in both places at once gave them some distinct advantages, including the ability to travel great distances in the blink of an eye. But most gloedari, including Glowy, lived far, far south of Olarstia, at the bottom end of the large southern forest country of Paledo. It would take quite a few blinks to get the creature all the way from that far off land to the flying city of Rodnlith.

“And Zotikos, how marvelous to see you!” Glowy roared and wrapped the elfe in a tight embrace. “The missus seems to be a mite perturbed,” it commented softly.

“Indeed. You know how she gets when she sets her mind to something. You’d best back off while you still can. And she’s not my ‘missus!’”

“Well,” Glowy said to Althea after leaving Zotikos, “I’d best be off. Now that the storm’s stopped, there’s nothing stopping me from carrying out my business. Be sure to visit me in the Emperor’s House when you’re done.” The blob creature jiggled as it went out the wooden door, glad to get away. It had seen how intense the scarlet eyes had turned after the continued disruption.

Zotikos saw Althea turn to the stairs, and he gulped. Nothing ever stopped her when she got that determined. Those scarlet eyes were the harbinger of doom for all they crossed. The trait was not that common among the elves, but common enough for Zotikos’ tastes. Nobody wanted to cross a red-eyed elf.

He followed her up the stairs, hoping that the two humans had already left. The worn oak steps creaked under the pressure, and Zotikos could almost feel the boards splintering under the forceful and determined steps of the elf mage. The passage got darker as they ascended to the first landing. A pretty young elf was standing there, with a heap of linen in her arms, waiting for the two to pass. Althea turned quickly on the elf and slammed her into the wall, forcing her wings to bend painfully to the sides. Bedclothes flew everywhere and draped into intricate patterns.

“Two red haired humans are staying here. Which room are they in?” She whispered softly, deadly. The maidservant paled and tried to stammer something out, but her words were drowned out.

“What was that?” Came a coarse yell from the room beyond.

“Sounds like something hit the wall,” replied a cooler, female voice. The door beside the two elves opened, and Pyrena stepped out. “Or, someone hit the wall.” She turned to head back into the room, but she paused, as if in recognition of the visitor. “Are you… Althea? Do you bear a message from the House of the Dawn?” She backed up a step at the sound of steel being drawn.

“A message, yes,” Althea snarled as she shoved the maidservant away. “Slavers DIE!” She lunged forward, hands extended. Pyrena nimbly dodged the blow, far quicker than either of the elves would have expected a human to.

“Virdochan, it seems we have a problem.” She called as she easily dodged another blow from Althea. “Get rid of it.” She jumped backwards into the doorway, landing on all fours and making room for the male human to come forth.

Just at that moment, Zotikos whipped out his sword and lunged forward, taking the man by surprise. Virdochan leaned to the side, but the long silver sword still grazed his side, cutting a wound that seemed to fill with a blood-like substance. The man’s eyes seemed to blaze with anger, and he lapsed in control over his voice. “You’ll pay for that, elf.” He snarled, flames licking the corners of his lips.

He raised his hand and it burst into flame, ready for him to bat the sword aside. Flames scorched the metal, leaving a dark residue, but otherwise the weapon was unharmed. Zotikos backed off; humans were not supposed to be able to do this, unless…

“Flammamancer!” Althea yelped. To be facing one of the dreaded mages…

The man laughed, his voice crackling with malice and fire. “You don’t need to be a mage to kill with fire!” He swung his fist in an arc, creating a scythe-like swath of fire that flew through the air at the two elves.

The blaze slashed across their stomachs, burning away the clothing and leaving painful burns on their skin. Zotikos doubled over and clutched at his midriff, but Althea remained tall and spat out a spell.

“Keverosan! Mak-jaramool!” White light shone from her hands and scalded the man, burning away patches of skin, beneath which black, twisted skin could be seen. She dashed forward into the inn room, whirling around to slash with her long dagger, leaving another line of blood. But her maneuver left her in pain from her burn, and she staggered a bit, only to be punched by the flaming fist of Pyrena.

“Ner magaratham!” A ball of magic flew from her hand, magic which would have stunned the strange human and left her vulnerable. She gasped as the magic casting began to take its toll on her. Such spells drew from the magical life force of the caster, weakening them not physically, but mentally. The spell missed as Pyrena bent to the side easily, and it flew on past to smash the wall between the embattled Virdochan and Zotikos.

“Fool of an elf. Do you think you can beat us?” Pyrena jerked her elbows to her waist, forearms outstretched, and flames erupted in a circle around her and began to lick at the old wood of the inn. “I will see you burn in the Depths!” She held her hand forth to send a blast of fire at the crimson robed mageling, but was stopped as a blade was thrust through her spine. He last dying gasps were spent, and she rolled around on the weapon to spit in Zotikos’s face.

Virdochan leapt forward and slammed his hands down on the shoulders of the blinded elfe, bringing Zotikos crashing to the ground. The madman stood in the flickering flames, grinning wildly as the fire climbed up his skin, burning away all traces of the fair colored falseness that covered him.

Within, Althea desperately called out with her mind, trying to force her way into the time stream and call to Rheasyne. But either she couldn’t do it, or her magic was blocked. There was no escape.

Althea gasped, one knee on the ground and one arm clutching at her side. Staring up into the face of evil, it was forever ingrained in her memory of a tall, black and twisted figure laughing crazily as he lifted a flaming foot and brought it down to smash down against her skull. After that, she remembered no more.


From the distance, the Chronomancer watched as the wooden inn burst into flame, and various creatures came running out, screaming and trying to put out the fires burning on their clothes. His face twisted into a grimace and spoke a few words, trying to summon Althea and Zotikos from the blaze, but it was to no avail.

He cast his eyes downwards, staring at his slipper covered feet dangling beneath his long, gray robes. His hands clenched into tiny tight fists, and a small tear ran down the side of his withered face. Thoughts of the young elf he had helped to raise, bringing her up in the ways of magic, flooded through his mind.

He thought of the first day he had ever met the young elf, with her long black hair and intriguing scarlet eyes. She was, as ever, carefree and wild, diving about the skies and letting the winds guide her here and there, never caring of her destination, always enjoying the ride. She was like a leaf in a joyful wind, blowing everywhere and nowhere, but always settling down in the end. And now that leaf had burst into flame, crinkling up into a little black ball of ash, never to have her beauty shown in the skies again.

She had been so happy, as she always was. He had thought, that with her wildness and disregard for conventions and authority, that she would not make a good student. But circumstances had convinced him otherwise, mainly due to his old age and impending death during the Apocalypse. Sixty years was not a long time to an elfe that could expect to live a millennium.

Her approach to magic had been interesting, and indeed, even refreshing. She took to it with vigor; quickly mastering a few simple enchantments and minor summoning spells. But she could not even try for the simplest of chronomancies, that which her craft would be based on. She studiously carried on, learning a few more basic spells, of the craft that wizards termed ‘manamancy.’ But then her young life had taken a different turn. She spent more time with her family, involving herself with trading, business, and meeting many new people. The Chronomancer suspected that it was during this time that she had met the elfe that she described as ‘her introduction to evil.’

After a period of five years, she had returned to the Wizard’s Hold, and began to once again turn her attentions to magic. She worked on it diligently, soon learning a few combat spells and ways of gaining magical tidbits of information. A few more years under his study brought her to the previous decade, when she had taken ill with the Plague.

The Plague had ravaged the continent of Quar-Ulou, spreading its death from Ronandan to their own land of Olarstia. Althea was one of the lucky ones, surviving the Plague due to the faithful ministrations of the herbalists, and prayers of the priests of the Trinity. As a noble of the House of the Dawn, she was privy to the doctoring, unlike many unfortunate elves living in lesser houses of the city. The Plague had drastically reduced the population of the elves, bringing the overall population of the species in Olarstia from over five hundred thousand to twenty thousand. Many elven cities crashed from the skies without the life of the elves to maintain their flight. Marble ruins of the once grand sky forms littered the volcanic wastes below, most now covered by new layers of lava.

The city of Rodnlith, once a proud host to seven thousand elves, was reduced to three thousand, the largest number in any dwelling of the sky. The Emperor still kept his home in Rodnlith, even now, and still watched over his dwindling Noraniil. Now there were two less elves in the city; the Chronomancer and many others would mourn the deaths of the two that died in the fire. He flapped his wings and took off from his air perch, heading to the House of the Evening to inform of the terrible news, and then to the House of the Dawn. If his magic could not recall the two, then they must be dead.


In the ruins of the Crossroads Inn, the dark creature that used to be Virdochan still stood, still laughing. Under his feet, the ashes of the once filthy and decrepit building smoldered. He smiled as he considered the fate of the two idiotic elves that had dared to interfere with his slaving attempts. He grimaced as he remembered the chambermaid, who must’ve overheard their conversation, and seen what the man could do. She would have to be eliminated, preferably with fire and then returned to these ruins, if he was to continue on with his efforts.

With the death of their daughter, the heads of the House of the Dawn would likely be willing to agree to the trade pact, hoping to gain a little comfort of wealth in their loss. He laughed aloud at his thoughts. Their daughter’s ‘death!’ She would be as good as dead where he had banished her, and might soon be dead if she didn’t learn to control her temper and watch her mouth.

A moment of regret passed through him as he looked at the black remains of his partner Pyrena. It would cost a great deal to get her soul recalled and instilled within her body again, and he would have to formulate a good excuse for her absence. It was of no consequence in the long run, however. For now, he would have to make his way to the House of the Dawn and request new lodgings. A place to stay out of the storms was on the top of his priority list.


A black, twisted creature, much like that which Virdochan had been revealed to be, strolled along a darkened corridor, lighted only by his own flames. His black iron rod rattled against the steel bars of the prisoner’s cages as he passed, waking them up for feeding time. A grubby cook soon came along, doling, from a huge grimy cauldron, spoonfuls of black sludge that the prisoners wearily gobbled down, before it could be taken back and given to the next prisoner.

The guard heaved a content smile as he got to the two cages at the end of the hallway. The new prisoners were in it. Actually, ‘prisoners’ was a misnomer; they were slaves. The fire demon grinned, his black teeth crackling in his dark skull head, and breathed out a cloud of sulfurous smoke, waking the slaves into coughing consciousness.

“Welcome to your new home,” he cackled, flickers of flame running up his sides as he exercised his mirth. “I will be your host for the remainder of your life – you may call me Master Blaze. Should you be good little elves, you won’t get your wings torn off, and you’ll only be sent to the fire pits. Should you be naughty little elves… well, I’ll leave it to your imaginations. I’m sure you can come up with some ‘inventive’ new ideas to help me out.” He laughed again, and the cook came up.

The snarling demon took a ladle of the goop and held it forth. “Well? Where are your bowls?” When they failed to answer, he snarled and flung the sludge at their wings. “Pretty little elves don’t get gruel if they don’t have bowls. Lick it off each other, and enjoy your perverse little pleasures.” He hauled up his cauldron with a grunt and staggered back down the hall, grumbling along the way.

“Don’t worry, he’s all bite and no bark. You’ll come to see how agreeable he can be. Oh, and take his advice. Don’t be afraid to degrade yourselves; it makes for more fun for our peek-a-boo watchers in the ‘noble houses.’ Eh heh.” He swaggered off, leaving the two unfortunate prisoners in silence and darkness.

“Althea, sometimes I truly wonder about your plans,” Zotikos muttered.

“So do I. I thought there was no such place as hell.” Althea flopped to her side and leaned her head against the rough stone wall. “Should we ever get out of this, I promise to leave dealing with slavers to the guards and professionals.”

“Don’t promise anything in this state. Once you get a bit of zeal for life back, you’ll be back to your old determined self.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. It’s like I’m cursed. Am I determined because of the color of my eyes, or are my eyes scarlet because I’m determined? Mother always said that red-eyed elves were not to be crossed, but it seems these… creatures haven’t heard of that. I’m sorry if I seem to be rambling. This is too much for me right now.”

“Don’t worry,” Zotikos replied softly. “I understand completely. We’ll survive this pit, and we won’t do anything degrading in the process.”

“Shut up the sappiness! Make this interesting!” Came a snarling voice of fire from the air.

“It seems we’re never truly alone.” Zotikos sighed and closed his eyes, though it was no different from the pitch-black world beyond them. “This will be a long haul.”

“I never thought that there was such a thing as hell,” Althea repeated.

 

Smyther, the BoM are lucky to have one such as you... I don't think I enjoyed a read this much since Shura left.
Keep up the good work, and it going.
I am really intrigued by the burning critters... and an interesting approach to magic too... And elves. With wings.
I look forward to the next installment very much!

 

Thank you for the extremely high praise Hugo, long past though it was, but I don't know if there will be a next installment. My ideas on the world aren't fully developed yet, and I'm not quite sure how to proceed.
A little more work is needed, and perhaps I will be feeling a little more inspired. Is there any more interest out there, or are people deterred by the length? I intended each part to be a standard book-length chapter.

 

Sorry for the late response, but honestly I hadn't had time to really read through it. Having done so, I am glad that I did and do hope you'll write more! I think you've really got something there! Beyond the fact that it is a wonderful beginning, I'm impressed you have the motivation to get so much written out. I can barely get past the first page of my own writing.