Eclipse: the Beginning

“Lord Zion’s … castle?” Celestial looked around them at last. Standing on her own, her heart skipped every other beat. Was this real? The place she had been searching for all these years was before her eyes? “This is … Lord Zion’s … castle?”

“It is better known as Mt. Aion,” Boaz said with a grin. “After Lord Zion’s disappearance, the lower entrances closed. The only way in was through the Mouth of Aion and the watchtower.”

“Why were they sealed off?” Seraph asked from where he sat. His eyes looked up with the curiosity of a young child. Samuel noted the hopeful spark in his friend’s spirit. Could he be searching for clues to his father’s whereabouts?

“After the winds died, the lower gates were no longer held open,” Boaz explained cheerfully. “Lord Zion had created the mechanism to keep those without wind magic from taking Mt. Aion during the Great War. We entered by flying inside the tower.”

“Lord Zion must have tried to use this as a haven for his people should he fall in battle,” Celestial added. “I had no idea there was anything inside.”

“Why did you come here, though?” Samuel asked innocently. “I thought the castle was forgotten.”

“It was because of that cursed Bog!”

“Bazak …” Boaz lost his voice. There was pain in his tone, yet his spirit remained calm, unlike the stirred Bazak.

“My mentor Raphael told me that the Wingies had fled to Lord Zion’s castle after his disappearance. He never told me more than that Bog drove you out and the Hive fell. Just why are you outlawed in your own province?” The god frowned in concern.

“It was because of the prophecy,” Alma replied. A heavy sadness fell upon her, making Samuel frown as Seraph had. “Viceroy Bog came to Western Wind shortly after the wind stilled. He was a cowardly man who cared little for our people. He ignored us, the mystics who acted as advisors to Lord Zion since the birth of Wind, and tried to dismiss us. It was when the breeze returned to the Hive that he finally found his chance.”

“Bog claimed the prophecy was a declaration of war,” Bazak continued when Alma’s voice faltered. “He condemned all Wingies as traitors, ordering a siege on the Hive. The wind warned us though, telling us to abandon our home and follow. The women and children got away first with some soldiers who were on our side. Half the men remained to protect the sacred tree in the Hive, but they were never heard from again.”

“That’s terrible.” Samuel had to grasp his chest as the anger swelled inside him. Bazak’s passion was intense. The Nomad realized his empathy would cause him more problems around such individuals. “How could someone so cowardly pass judgment and condemnation? He has no right to lead anyone. I thought he was cruel for how he treated my friends, but ….”

“Samuel,” Celestial spoke sternly, “do not faint, or I will tell them to leave you here in the hall.”

“Celestial,” the Wind god rubbed his eyes, groaning. He realized she was trying to pull Samuel out of his emotions, but the soldier could still use some lessons in tactfulness.

“Leave him to me,” Boaz smiled back at the rest of the group.

“Boaz?” Alma questioned his statement with a confused expression.

“I feel as though he requires my help, Lady Alma. Please entrust him to my care.” The Wingie bowed his head, humbly.

Samuel glanced at him. The youth was still supporting him over his shoulders. Why did the young Wingie want to look after a complete dependent like he was?

“If you feel the wind so guides you,” Alma nodded in approval, “act as it leads you.”

“Thank you,” Boaz smiled back at her. “I will take him to rest for now. I can sense his spirit is in discord. Bazak, you may go with them if you wish.”

“Boaz,” the wilder of the brothers gaped back at his sibling, torn.

“I know how curious you are about our guests. I only thought one person would bore you.”

“Right.” Bazak looked away, walking closer to the other Wingie.

Seraph watched the youth glare at his feet. He made a mental note, for he felt questions would be best asked later.

“This way please,” Alma motioned for Seraph and Celestial to follow her once again. “We have much to discuss and reflect upon. Boaz will look after your friend while you are apart, I assure you.”

“Thank you.” Seraph glanced at Samuel a moment. He looked pale again. If only his empathy wore less on his body. “Please try to rest, Samuel. You usually feel better after some sleep.”

“Stop worrying about me, both of you,” the Nomad smiled weakly back at the young god. Celestial gaped, looking away to hide her flushed face. “I’m in good hands. We’ll be together again soon.”

“Come now, Samuel,” Boaz said as he turned down the hall in the opposite direction.

Both Seraph and Celestial felt a sense of failure as they watched them go. It was as if the Wingie was doing something they should. With Alma and Bazak waiting, the Wind and Light turned away to follow. Celestial lingered behind, nodding slightly toward the god.

“What is it?” the Wind asked quietly. He got the feeling she wanted a private chat.

“That Wingie,” she whispered, “plans to divine Samuel.”

“How do you know?”

“Our whelp has piqued his mystic instincts. I only hope he doesn’t find something he shouldn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?” Seraph looked at her with a suspicious expression. “Do you know something I don’t yet?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Bazak growled over his shoulder. “We don’t care for secrets here. Unless you want a fight on your hands, you’d best not try to hide anything.”

“Bazak, please,” Alma sighed heavily. “I assure you that Bazak speaks for himself. His words flow from his spirit’s scars. I apologize for him.”

“You needn’t,” Celestial replied with a stern tone, “Any soldier can respect another with that spark in his eyes. His loyalty is sound, and we could put his skill to use outside of this mountain. He would be a fine soldier in the Wind army.”

Bazak gaped back her. His feet froze. The red in his face revealed how youthful he was. As stoic as her face and voice implied, the Light had made a passionate statement. Seraph smiled back at the young warrior before him. He mimicked a gesture he had seen Samuel use before, raising his thumb up as he clenched the rest of his fist.

“After that clash, I agree with Celestial. You would make Western Wind proud.”

“My, this is a sight to behold,” Alma giggled at the younger’s humbled visage. “I believe Bazak is speechless, for the first time!”

The four reached a door, where Alma gestured an invitation inside. The two companions glanced around to take in their surroundings. Seraph noticed Bazak’s bowed head. Just where were they?

The room was a decent size. A woven rug lay in the center with a small table that appeared to be a tree root fixed with a sanded plank on top. A metal oil lamp sat on the table, stretching forth four necks with small tongues of flame hovering over the spouts. Seraph felt a sense of nostalgia, for Raphael had a lamp like it back home. A smile crept across his lips at the memory.

Celestial’s attention drew to a knotted pole, leaning against the wall. A large, yellow-orange leaf leaned beside it. The soldier narrowed her opaque eyes, wondering what purpose they served in this room. The brazier caught her eyes next, burning incense from the look of the smoke wafting from it. There was a tall window with a second brazier on the other side. A spiral wind chime hung from the middle of the window’s arch. The Light paused at this detail. It reminded her of Seraph’s earring. With everything she had seen, she wondered if this was a meditation room.

“Please sit,” Alma motioned to the table, waiting for her guests sit. “Your journey has been long. You must be weary.”

“Should I fetch some water or wine, Lady Alma?”

“That would be wonderful, Bazak. Could you bring some nourishment for our guests as well?”

“Of course, Lady Alma.”

When the younger Wingie bowed and left, Celestial and Seraph glanced at one another before kneeling on one side of the table. Alma smiled sweetly before seating herself opposite. There was silence for a moment, yet it was far from still. All of their senses told the travelers there was a presence with them. Try as they might, neither could detect where it came from. It was as if it were everywhere and nowhere at once. Suddenly, the small disks on the wind chime tapped the thin pipes to ring a hauntingly beautiful sound.

“Ah,” Alma gasped at the chime, “forgive my rudeness. You both must be curious how I knew of your arrival. You must have many questions. It would honor me to answer any you have before I ask my own.”

“You are a gracious hostess, Lady Alma,” Seraph spoke up before Celestial could interrogate the mystic. Despite his social anxiety, Raphael had raised him to be a noble who would one day take over as head of their house. “Bazak’s brother, Boaz I believe his name was, mentioned you had predicted something relating to our arrival to Mt. Aion. Would you mind telling us what your prediction foretold?”

“Of course,” she replied as she closed her eyes. “This morning, during my meditation, my chimes rang a splendid melody.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Celestial asked abruptly. “I am unfamiliar with Wingie divination, as it has been lost for some time in Aurora.”

Seraph tried not to groan at her aggressive tone.

“Angels would divine differently. Since light is the nature of your magic, it would most likely relate to communing with it somehow. The same is true of all mystics in Aurora. Divining wind requires us to listen to its whispers. The easiest and most clear method is for us to amplify those whispers through the sound of chimes.”

“Oh, I see!” Seraph exclaimed with a balled fist planted in his opposite palm. “The chime acts as a vessel for wind to flow through, like with my staff and magic.”

“I am pleased to know you understand,” the mystic said with a blush. “The chimes sounded this morning and told me three travelers of Aurora would come to us for help. I was to know them by their entry at the Mouth of Aion.”

“Why was that so significant?” Seraph asked, curiously.

“Because it would require magical means to reach it, Wind,” Celestial’s annoyed voice made him cower away from her a bit.

“Not only that,” Alma continued her explanation, “they could ride the winds easily. Only a god or enchanted item possessor could achieve such a feat. The Mouth of Aion is so high that even an immortal would fall prey to the thin air if not accustomed to it. That would leave only a god as our visitor, one of wind. We knew a Wind god would rise once again. After the Great Hall filled with wind recently, we have been waiting for your arrival, young god.”

Seraph swallowed a lump in his throat. He hoped the Wingies were not expecting him to liberate Western Wind. While he was a god, he was not Lord Zion, their guardian and protector. The young god had come to them to learn how to find his father. He was not ready to start any revolts when Samuel’s quest was their priority right now. They had already sidetracked enough on his account. He did not wish to crush the mystics’ hopes, though. He lowered his head as he mulled over the predicament he found himself in.

“You said that your prediction foretold that we would require your aid,” Celestial spoke up, ignoring Seraph’s unease. “Did this divination tell you what we would need of you?”

“You see, that part of the message confused me.” Alma looked them both in the eye. She clenched her jaw as if she feared to speak her thoughts. The Light and Wind waited patiently, making the mystic flush a shade deeper. When she found her voice once more, Alma spoke quietly, “A darkness and light will come with their charge, seeking the whispers of the wind.”

“Darkness and … light?”

“Do you refer to the Prophecy of the Wingies that Bog condemned you for?” Celestial rose one knee, as if she might spring from the floor.

“You are familiar with our prophecy then,” Alma said with a sigh of relief. She reached up to touch her chest with a small smile. “We have never understood the meaning of those words the wind gave us upon its return. I was only a child then, but my mother told me that it foretold of wonderful times to come. Since then, many Wingies have meditated and reflected on what it could mean, but even the wisest of us will admit that we are at a loss.”

“How could Darkness ever coexist with light?” the soldier growled as she bore her clenched teeth at the mystic. “The Darkness only seeks to destroy the light. I have witnessed this with my own eyes! What kind of prophecy pits enemies as allies?”

“Celestial!” Seraph cut her off quickly. His dilated eyes bore down on her enough to force her to look back at him. He might still be battling his own fears, but he would not have the Light badgering the poor woman trying to help them. “Enough. She already said they don’t completely understand the meaning themselves. Intimidating her won’t give us anything more. We need their help, so let’s try to keep things civil, please.”

“Um … perhaps it is a description rather than an identity,” Alma hung her head as she spoke timidly. She had been intimidated by Celestial’s outburst, though few would not be with those glowing eyes. Still, she was brave enough to stand her ground, or sit rather. It was enough to make the soldier back down.

“How do you mean? Does our country not describe us?” Seraph asked with a hint of skepticism.

“Often in divination,” she explained shyly, “description of persons is vague on purpose. We mystics believe this is to prevent us from false conclusions or trying to alter Destiny’s course. It also protects the individual from those who would try to prevent prophecies from happening.”

“What does that have to do with your prophecy?” the Light was trying not to sound perturbed, but she was failing.

“Darkness and light might refer to what someone appears to resemble. A figure who appears black and another white, perhaps …” Alma’s voice faded, hoping the listeners would make the leap of logic.

Seraph looked at Celestial. Barely suppressing a blush, the god tried to find something that was not white on her. Her pale complexion, ghost-like eyes, pallid locks, colorless robe and boots all prove to fail the inspection. The only non-white attributes about her were the gold and silver cords about her waist. Could the Wingie be onto something?

Celestial glanced at her companion from the corner of her eye. His clothes’ colors were deep, but that could be normal for Western nobility. His waist-length, raven hair cast an additional shade on his tan skin. Again, she could dismiss this to Western Wind attributes. What she could not brush aside were the pupils that covered his irises. They made his eyes look like a pit falling forever. A darkness that just might swallow anything that gazed within them long enough.

“I brought water, wine, and dried meat, Lady Alma,” Bazak said as he opened the door. He paused, realizing the intense atmosphere. “I should have knocked, shouldn’t I?” Alma nodded slowly. “Anyone hungry?” He grinned childishly from the doorway as the others stared back at him.

It was late when a Wind soldier took up his watch of the front gate to the viceroy’s estate. He shifted his weight between his feet, with his evergreen eyes to the north. The Sun was touching the horizon, and it was his turn to stand guard during sunset. It was never eventful or problematic, but Viceroy Bog had sown so many superstitions in the soldiers’ minds so that the Darkness unnerved almost everyone. As he stood, prepared for the great light to extinguish, something coming from the east caught his eye – a figure walking toward the gate across the main road.

“Who’s there?” the soldier called, gripping his pole.

“I am a guest of the Viceroy of Heaven,” the person in a white cloak announced himself. “He should be expecting me.”

“You have yet to give me your name, and what business have you with Viceroy Bog?”

The tall figure paused several paces from the Wind soldier. Sighing, he took back his hood to reveal his face. The soldier blinked at the handsome visage. Were all Lights fair of face or something? Bog must be the one exception, with his unnaturally thin frame and sagging eyes. The Wind had to swallow the bile that leapt up his throat at the mental image.

“My name is Namas,” the Light said in a majestic tone. “Viceroy Bog invited me to stay in his home while I research some matters on behalf of the king here in the west.”

“Namas? Why does the Great Mage not travel with an escort? I would not have doubted your appearance if you did not come alone, sire.” The soldier slacked his hands around his pole in fear. “Please forgive my ignorance, Lord Namas. I intended no disrespect.” He bowed his choppy obsidian crown low, hoping to not incur noble wrath upon his head.

“I take no offense. You serve your lord well to question.” The mage glanced at the horizon, watching the Sun sinking beneath the edge of Aurora. “I am aware of the measures Bog has placed around himself. He has made more enemies than allies since he was appointed to his position.” … more like handed the appointment by the actual appointee.

“Please enter the mansion, sire,” the soldier spoke quickly. “I know how Darkness is free to roam when the Sun slips beneath Aurora. I assure you the estate is well lit, though.”

“What?” Namas glanced back at the Wind soldier, still bent over to the waist. He sighed lightly at the action he was so used to seeing. Some things never change over the centuries. “Darkness is of little concern to me, soldier. I cannot allow myself to fear it if I am to protect my king. I thank you for the concern, however. What is your name? I will be sure to sing your praises to the viceroy for your conduct,” he smiled as he approached.

“Yonah, Lord Mage.”

“Well then, Yonah,” the Great Mage replied with a positive tone of voice, “I will see that Viceroy Bog hears of your hospitality.”

As he passed through the gate, Namas observed the courtyard. The only people he saw were Wind soldiers. They were not all guarding the estate, though. There were three pruning some imported trees from Eastern Earth. Another two were carrying large jugs of water, pouring the contents onto the trees and other brush. Despite all his knowledge, the king’s advisor was lost as to why soldiers, in full uniform no less, were doubling as groundskeepers. He was glad King Zemnas was not present to witness this. He was going to have a chat with Bog about what an army was for.

“Welcome, sire,” a young soldier greeted him when he knocked at the front door. The mage was taken aback by the beauty of the honey-streaked with green eyed gaze. From the feminine voice and slim frame, Namas almost assumed he was a she. “May I ask who calls on the viceroy this evening?” The young man bowed his silky, chocolate-brown haired head gracefully.

“I am Namas from Heaven. Viceroy Bog should be expecting me.”

“Lord Namas, we are pleased to see you arrived safely to the capital, although, my lord was not expecting you until tomorrow. Please, come this way, and I shall fetch my lord promptly.”

“Your manners are splendid, soldier. I shall overlook the viceroy’s assumption in lieu of my alleviated disappointment. Please extend my apology for any misunderstanding on my part.”

“You are too kind, my lord,” the young Wind replied calmly. As he ushered the king’s advisor to a sitting area, he bowed low, waving a hand inside. “Please wait here, Lord Namas, as I collect my lord. May I bring you some water or wine?”

“Wine would be satisfactory. Thank you.”

Namas nodded in gratitude as he walked into the room. He shed his cloak as he watched the youth leave from the corner of his eye. Once he was alone, he turned his gaze to the large windows across from him. Bog had his mansion designed after the best of Heaven’s luxurious abodes, making him familiar with the layout of the room. Approaching the windows, he looked outside to see more soldiers tending to the grounds. What a mockery of the once great Wind army ….

“Bog …” the mage sighed heavily. “Perhaps I misjudged your ability when you accepted this position. If word of this were to reach my liege …” he stilled his voice, silently scolding himself for thinking aloud.

“Forgive me, my lord. The viceroy appears to have retired for the night; I was unaware.” The reserve sounded a bit unnerved when he returned, but he hid it well enough to continue. “I have brought your wine, though.”

Namas turned about to see that the soldier had brought a goblet as well as a gourd with him. Bog was every bit as lazy as he had heard. How splendid. He gave the youth a blank stare for a moment before extending his left hand. The soldier blinked in surprise, but he quickly remedied his hesitation, placing the goblet in the open hand.

“I take it you have never met someone who is left-handed.” Namas smiled slightly.

“No … I meant no disrespect, sire,” the soldier said, hanging his head in shame. A hand on his shoulder jolted his face upward in shock. “Lord Namas?”

“My brother was lost in the Great War,” the noble said calmly. “My elder twin and I were considered mirrors of one another, down to our dominate hands. It is a pain I have learned to live with, so there is no need to feel shame in your ignorance. What is your name, soldier?”

“I am ….” The young Wind was breathless; his cheeks were flushed. For the first time, he looked the immortal in the eye. The Wind nearly dropped the gourd in his hands. He understood what had come over him by just looking into the noble’s eyes. The mage was fair of visage and gentle of speech. “I am called Yishmael, Lord Namas.”

“Yishmael.” Namas released the Wind’s shoulder as it seemed distracting for him. “Would you serve as my personal aide in my stay here? I will of course speak to the viceroy if you fear your position, should you be interested.”

“I would be honored, Lord Namas,” Yishmael replied with a smile. The young Wind felt his stomach flutter at the invitation. “May I fill your cup, sire?”

“Yes, thank you, Yishmael.”

“Would you like me to have a meal prepared for you as well?” Yishmael asked as he watched the mage take a sip. “You must have traveled for some time. I noticed that you did not have an escort, so I doubt you have eaten a decent meal since you left Heaven. I could show you to the dining hall once it is ready.”

“I would like to learn how a soldier of Wind became such an attentive manservant,” Namas said with a raised eyebrow. He even managed a smile of curiosity. The youth must dislike serving Bog a great deal to be so eager to assist him.

“I am humbled that you think so highly of me, but I am hardly a warrior of Wind.”

“You are a reserve in the army, are you not?”

“In title mostly …” the Wind’s voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. He quieted, hoping the mage would let the conversation drop.

Namas watched the Wind as he sipped his wine. There was shame and almost fearful hesitation in his body language. This was hardly a positive sign of Bog’s presence in Wind. From what he had observed within the walls of the estate thus far, this behavior made his interest pique.

“Yishmael,” the mage spoke at last, turning to glance outside, “I have seen a great deal of servitude here from the ranks in my brief time already. Can you tell me why servants of the household do not attend these chores?” He took another sip, awaiting the Wind’s answer.

“Why? There are no servants, sire,” Yishmael replied honestly, but he said no more. Oh, what trouble had he stirred up?

“None?” Namas paused. He was listening as he contained his surprise.

“No, my lord.”

“Would I be correct to assume that Lord Bog has enlisted solely soldiers to fulfill these roles? For what purpose?”

“Well …” Yishmael mulled over his words, holding the wine gourd closer. He could not look the mage in the eye. “Yes, we do tend to the estate, but Lord Bog says it is for security purposes.”

“Yishmael.”

The reserve looked up timidly at Namas’ blank expression.

“Please have a meal prepared for us. I wish to discuss this topic further in a more comfortable setting. Would that be all right with you?”

“Oh!” Yishmael’s hazel eyes sparkled in awe at the thought of sharing a meal with the handsome immortal. “Yes! Yes, I would be honored, my lord!”

“Splendid.” Namas smiled at last, seeing the Wind perk up and walk out grinning so brightly.