Glimpses

[Zadown]

It was another glorious morning in Alhavianna. They all were, really, but this one was trying its very best to be even more so than average. The colors of dawn sun and the surrounding light cloud cover were vivid and rich, magnificent tones of red and yellow and purple mixed together in perfect harmony. A sweet, heavy fragrance rose to the air as the sun hit the gently rolling hills and meadows full of flowers, the airy orchards near the settlements and the few wild forests. I inhaled the warm morning air deeply and closed my eyes in bliss – truly, it was heavenly.

 

I did not tarry longer than that, though, and when the sun managed to raise its ponderous body above the horizon I too left the ground below me and leaped upwards to fly. My mission might have not been the most important in the multiversum, or even the less incomprehensible but still vast realm of this particular plane, but it was my mission and I was overjoyed to have one. Most angels of my lowly caste were kept in reserve cooped up in the overcrowded halls of Eliasyn or were told to fly around the countryside patrolling against enemies that never appeared here in the heart of the realms of good. Not me! I was told to take my message and carry it to the high priest of Baladar, who resided in the mortal realm of Athra, in the city of Chan-áv-Iman. Flying through the very Lost Paths, no less!

 

“Beware the wily and abyssal on the Paths, my son”, had the local leader of my order told me very seriously. “Keep thy vision clear, fly with utmost haste and avoid any and all contact, my son, for contact with the travellers is first step towards contamination if thou surviv’st at all!” as if I was some Lantern Archon freshly ascended to the heavenly realms. Of course I knew the hazards of the Lost Paths, but I was steadfast in my faith. What peril could harm me, nay even brush me lightly, since I was armed with shield of raw goodness and flew with godly blessings? So I debated inside my head and flew upwards, towards the unseen ceiling of the heaven, ready beyond any doubt for my first unsupervised Astral jaunt.

 

I hovered for a moment. I was in a hurry, true, but we are taught to cherish our life and moments like this, and Alhavianna looked beautiful beyond words from up here. It was getting closer to midday, and the fiery yellow sun bathed the whole plane in warm, caressing sunlight that sparkled on the waters, painted merry shadows from the few lonely clouds floating on the sky and made the vibrant green of trees and grass almost glow. I sighed aloud from pure joy as I stepped through the cold planar border into the lifeless Void.

 

Miracle after miracle, I thought, for the vision before me was almost as breathtaking as the one I had left behind me. If Alhavianna was the paragon of days, all around me I could now see the paragon of nights: the utmost darkness of the black, cold Void painted full of pearly stars, every star a full world. Between the stars floated a gossamer web of paths, hard to see but very real. I must admit it was all a bit overwhelming for me, and despite my hurry I tarried again, drinking the pure nectar of that divine sight in front of my eyes.

 

It was then when he appeared, a full-grown Solar sailing towards me through the airless Void. First I only bowed my head as was proper and stepped back, assuming His Glorified Magnificence wished to plunge through the world crystal from where I was floating, still moved by the beauty all around me. He stopped however; so close I could feel his aura as a hot wind, tinged with heavenly fury and pure goodness. I had never been so close to a Solar, for they are rare and powerful, always on their own errands, working on missions so high above my lowly rank I only heard rumours of them. My frail body quivered and I was confused – was the way not clear? Had I offended this greater being? Then he turned towards me, face shining with so great a brilliance I could feel it as a gentle touch, a benediction of light brushing my down-turned head.

 

“Alas, my son! For I have to divert thy from thine urgent errant, as much as it pains me. There is a great need for a messenger nearby. Do not argue, for time is of highest importance.”

 

The words were hard to understand, for he spoke with dialect so pure and close to the One True Language that it was almost beyond me. I gathered he needed me, however, and since my last order had been from a far lesser master, I did not pause to think. We sped away towards the depths of the Void with haste. I did my best, focusing on the power of faith when I felt that my wings would not carry me and soaking my weariness away in the warmth of the Solar’s radiance. Mortal high priests could await, this was clearly more urgent. Praise be Balandar! Earlier this same very day I had been happy to have a mission at all, but now I was travelling with a veritable titan of good. I was clearly being marked for works of even greater servitude and glory!

 

In these thoughts and struggling to keep up with my powerful guide, I did not pay heed to the direction we had been going. When the Solar slowed to a halt, my quick glance did not notice any landmarks. We did seem to be out of the main roads but that was all I was sure of. Of course, I could feel the direction of my home, Alhavianna as a compass in my very core, and so I’d never be truly lost anywhere. It was then, when the glorious day started to go horribly wrong. As we floated there on a less used path, the Solar turned to look at me again, and before I had time to avert my gaze as was proper, he … changed. He pushed his radiant face upwards, as if removing an irritating mask, and his huge wings faded away, the heavenly glow around him was doused and his form twisted and shivered into sheer horror.

 

Where a moment ago had stood a Solar, now hunched a tall, thin planewalker in chaotic armor, wearing an iron crown and wielding a spectral no-dachi. His pale skin was full of various scars, his grey hair floated around him in the weightlessness of the Void and his deep, dark blue eyes were fixed on me. On his forehead was a mask indeed, a bleeding mask of angel skin, crude strings keeping it from falling.

 

He grinned.

 

“Ya, urgent need indeed. What happens next might feel unpleasant, nameless angel, but when it hurts, just remember the first angel I met today. The one that had the pleasure of turning into a mask and a few bottles of blood, ya?”

 

I tried to fly away, but his faintest whispers grew into chains that held me fast.

[Zadown]

Author's note: read slowly for intended effect.

 

I barely think at all. Anymore. Sometimes I dream. Disjointed, muted dreams that turn back to the safe, soft darkness. Sometimes I listen. Not hear, but listen. To the quiet.

 

Nothing else is here. Almost nobody knows the way.

 

One year, I heard. Again. It seemed to be words, after the first week or so.

 

That woke me up. And still the words went on. So I spoke, with my voice of mountains and thunder.

 

“Yes?”

 

The words went on. Like mantra. Then he woke up.

 

“So ye do still speak, master. Greetings from the outside world, ancient one. I had thought ye had passed beyond thinking already.”

 

“No.”

 

“Everything is going well, master? You require anything?”

 

“Quiet. Words woke me up.”

 

“I apologize, master. I was singing the dirge of the dead, m’lord.”

 

“Life.”

 

“Excuse me, most honoured ancient? Life?”

 

“Yes. No need for a dirge. There will be life, not death.”

 

I moved. It hurt as if I had been tearing open old wounds with every move. Light hurt me even more.

 

“You look different, apprentice.”

 

“Yes, m’lord. I have aquired some new scars.”

 

“In your eyes? I taught you better than that, boy.”

 

I paused to gather my thoughts. They wavered. Like shadows cast by a torch.

 

“Never take a wound in the eye, boy.”

 

“They are not wounds as such, master. Merely a mark of my pledge to chaos.”

 

“Merely. Worse than lost eye.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“You make me weary, Wodzan Xe Chanima. Go. Be an agent of Chaos, then.”

 

“As ye wish, m’lord. Hope yer … transformation goes well.”

 

“It will. No Chaos or Law. Don’t come back to meddle.”

 

“As ye wish. Thank ye for everything, m’lord.”

 

“Farewell, boy.”

 

“Fatespeed, master.”

 

Quiet again. I relaxed back into oblivion.

[Zadown]

Eight, Six and Five were all ready. I could sense them nearby, even if it was impossible to see them. They were masters of stealth, lurking in the mist of the Veil. Still, I could envision them: their midnight-black chitinous plate armor, the dark sickles they held in their hands as claws, the tiny movements of their fingers as they signed to each other in the Crows’ own language. I sent a nervous thought, sort of “here I go, then”, and stepped through the planar crystal.

 

He wasn’t there. At least not on plain sight. This plane was very small, a mere bubble in the great Astral sea, a 50 foot radius sphere totally empty of any features, so there wasn’t really any place to hide. I sent a quick warning to the boys and drew my sickles, crouched down to a wary position. I concentrated, but could not sense any magic either. Before I had time to start thinking what to do, I could hear our leader’s voice in my head.

 

One: “Trap?”

 

Me: “Mmm, the jury’s still out on that one. Place is clear to all my senses.”

 

Five: “Outside clear.”

 

Two: “Approach clear.”

 

Nine: “Approach two unclear, some movement far-away but closing.”

 

One: “We wait, Nine keep an eye for possible hostiles, Seven hide and wait. That movement might be our man.”

 

Nine: “Got it.”

 

Me: “Got it.”

 

I melded myself with the few shadows I could find. Not very impressive, but it was the best I could do in an empty sphere devoid of any real hiding places. I grimaced inside my armor. One knew I hated waiting, which is why I was almost always the first man in. It was a miracle I was still alive with all the times I had been the spearhead, and I knew it, but as far as I knew not many humans had survived in the Murder of Crows as long as I had. It was mostly subtle hints and jokes, and of course with these accursed helmets I did not really know what races we had in the outfit, but I was pretty certain most were elves, as odd as it may seem. Guess we were elitist enough for them, intelligent, deadly and immortal.

 

Hah yeah, immortal. We never let rumours of our losses circulate. If we had to kill a few extra ones for that, ‘twas unfortunate, but most of our boys weren’t in this business to feel all warm and fuzzy inside about moral superiorities.

 

Nine: “Our man had a small skirmish but is now coming in solo. Approach two clear.”

 

One: “Got it. Seven, stop hiding. We know how twitchy he can be at his worst.”

 

Me: “Got it.”

 

I stepped out of the shadows, feeling stupid. Same as if I had been hiding under a single leaf or a grain of sand. I put my sickles away and fidgeted – I’d rather had them ready, but with this customer doing any threatening moves could be fatal, and it’s not like I could’ve fought him in any case. I heard they tried to hire us to do him, a bit before I joined, but One turned the offer down. That thought chilled me to no end. One never turns offers down, the murderous bastard he is.

 

Nine: “Customer stepping in. Wakey, Seven.”

 

Me: “Alert and ready.”

 

One: “Remember your manners, Seven. He doesn’t carry his sword around for show.”

 

Me: “Got it.”

 

Right then he appeared before me. I had heard his description before, but he had apparently changed his outlook since then. Very warlike attire, now.

 

“Evenin’, m’lord Crow.”

 

“You can call me Seven, Lord Dreamer.”

 

And I bowed. Not all the way to the floor, but showed a bit of respect. I didn’t have to check my senses to feel his strength. It was oppressive to be so close to him; his aura of power flared all around him, and his deep blue eyes seemed to drill great holes into me, the way he kept on staring right at my full helm.

 

“The Murder of Crows agrees to the contract, then?”

 

“The payment was too unspecified, I am sorry to say. If that matter can be clarified during this meeting, we shall consider the contract binding, m’lord.”

 

“Ye fear I shall give ye some sort of useless toy? That I’d try to hire the Murder of Crows with a trinket? That the only aspect my generousity takes is the number of souls I release from their mortal bodies?”

 

His now purple eyes burned as he sneered. I could see him drop his left hand to the hilt of his sword.

 

Me: “Tough customer. Ready to abort and obfuscate.”

 

Two: “Got it.”

 

Five: “Got it.”

 

Nine: “Got it. Don’t mess it up, dayfly.”

 

“Please calm down, m’lord Dreamer. Could you be so kind as to elaborate on the matter of payment so we could get to the business?”

 

“Very well, Seven. As we all know, ye primarily use sickles in yer missions, an old rule originating from the very beginning of yer band o’ assassins during the year 12734 of Anvil reckoning. During the two times the kinds of ye have clashed against my interests, I have gathered some information on the manner of sickles ye wield. Unless ye have changed yer weapons in the last 400 years or so, yer sickles are quite inferior to the one I would give as payment.”

 

I waited for a moment, but he did not continue. Feeling it was a bad idea, I nevertheless did as I had been instructed and opened up my big mouth to ask for futher information.

 

“Ah, all that may be very true m’lord Dreamer, but according to the general lore of the Astral you are not the best of smiths, and while our sickles are, as you say, very old, they are still in perfect condition.”

 

He narrowed his eyes and tugged the hilt of his sword.

 

“Not the best of smiths? That’s the most direct insult I’ve heard from anybody still currently alive in a while. But yes, I was not going to forge the sickle myself. All this bickering over small details annoy me – ya must have a new One from the last time I hired ya.”

 

I let the silence grow, even if it left me drenched in cold sweat. In the end, he did continue without me having to ask again.

 

“If ye must know, Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa owes me a certain favour, and I have come across some materials during my travels that far exceed the trueglass yer black sickles are forged of.”

 

Me: “Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa and err.. ‘materials far exceeding trueglass’, so he says.”

 

One: “I’m impressed. Accept the deal at once.”

 

Eleven: “Ammûrn Ôman-Ôa? Not that bad.”

 

Six: “Did I just hear Eleven say something positive? Sure sign of the end of the worlds.”

 

Four: “So true.”

 

One: “Silence! Talk at the camp.”

 

“I have been told to accept and tell that we consider the written contract binding from now on. As usual, the time we reserve for the fulfilment of this agreement is a year and a day.”

 

“About time, Seven of Crows. Good hunting and fatespeed.”

 

“Fatespeed, m’lord.”