HOME | DD

Description
Malia shrieked with laughter as Eirnah bowled her over and washed her face. Seris looked up from the scroll Miraaj had given him and smiled.  The girl was actually quite charming now that she was freed from her self-created prison, and he enjoyed his time watching her. The spirit wolf loved the child as well, and any child who had continued their cruelty to her was quickly silenced when they were swiftly knocked onto their rears and their vision was filled with the face of a snarling wolf.

As the two continued their play, Seris returned to his studies. Kjaan-Thir was completely different from any Aranian language, and it took a while to translate even short sentences. All languages from Arania had at least some base in Atiriasic, the god tongue. Lalaisan, the Old Tongues of the elves and the dwarves, and even Twitrin, Bubblic, and Fierish had the roots in the language of Gaia. But the Kjaan, from a different land entirely, had a completely different language. The Spirit's knowledge did not extend far past the borders of Arania, so he had to learn the language the hard way.

He ran a finger across the line of flowing glyphs, struggling to remember what each stroke meant and what they meant combined. He strained at his work for nearly half an hour, before he realized how dark it was. The sunlight filtered through the tent walls had vanished, leaving only the lamp light and the shine of Eirnah's fur.

The prince's brow wrinkled in confusion. It was early morning, and there hadn't been a cloud in the sky. What had caused the sudden dark?

Suddenly a scream rent the air. The wolf immediately took a defensive pose over the child on the ground, tail erect and ruff flared. A growl sounded deep in her chest as Seris swiftly rose to his feet. He called out a spell and an ice blue hemisphere of energy surrounded the wolf and girl. "Stay here!" he said right before walking out of the tent.

It was pitch black outside the walls. He couldn't even see the light that should have filtered out of the tent. All he saw was a slight line of light where the tent flap did not line up with the wall.

Another scream came, and he started moving again. He dropped a spell on the ground that glowed with a phosphorescent light that penetrated the unnatural dark, then forged onward in the direction of the scream.

He tripped over several unseen objects, and once he walked into an empty tent, collapsing it. He spent several minutes fighting to get free of the tangle. But soon after he saw a dim glow, and he rushed forward. He saw the vague form of a person just beyond the light and reached for them before freezing.

The dying light was radiating from a golden knife inscribed with bright blue runes. The hand that grasped it was small and delicate, a woman's hand. Strips of gold twined up her arm from the wrist, and it seemed to melt into the golden brown skin. But the hand was not connected to the standing figure.

It was connected to the body of the Jinn, lying dead on the ground. Just beyond her, now crouching, was a grinning likho demon.

Cold rage flowed through his veins. And for the first time ever, when the Spirit rose, he took control. He snatched its power and lashed out violently. The likho's grin turned into a mask of horror as it was consumed in a brilliant flash of light. He had turned before the light even struck.

His rage was terrible. He threw his arms wide and blasted the darkness apart, blowing over tents and anything else in the area over as well. Suddenly revealed, nearly two dozen demons whooped wildly and charged for him. They took no more than two steps each.

Then he threw his soul out, following the twisted cords of energy that trailed from the atomized bodies to a rip in the world. He dove through, shattering the thin tear into a massive hole.  On the other side was an empty and desolate plain topped by a sky the color of ash. Just in front of him, a kindrel had been directing more demons toward the rip. She whirled as he smashed through, and hissed at the presence she could not see. He lashed out again, and her eyes widened. A wall of ethereal flame roared up in front of him, scorching his soul. He pulled back, then soared high above her and dropped like a stone. He shot through the fire and latched hands that did not exist around her throat. Her spirit writhed as ice cold power tore through it. She tried to scream, but all that came out was an increasingly high pitched whine. Her followers had long since fled.

Then he felt others touching his material form. One was a pulsing blue being flecked with gold and surrounded by agitated orange sparks. Another was a pearly orb that howled its dismay. Both called for him to return, that he was in danger. He ignored them, intent on his prey.

Then one more touched him, and this one was a pure, blinding white. This one did not tell him to return, but spoke of confusion. It was scared, and it was hurt, and it was afraid of the dark it saw around him. It reminded him of another child, an elven one, who had been hurt and afraid, who he had been unable to help. It reminded him of the grief the child's mother had felt.

He let go, and the paralyzed kindrel fell to the ground, eyes glazed. He stopped pulling away from his body, letting it gently drag him back. And as he slipped back into it, he wrapped his arms around Malia, pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her spirit ease.

Then he released her and turned to Miraaj. He refused to let her die. He dove away from his body one more time, now following the silver trail of light that lead upward into the sky. He flew higher and higher into the sun, into brilliant, glorious light.

*       *       *

It was too bright.

He felt fragile as a glass butterfly. The living were not meant to walk here, but it was more than that. The light threatened to crush his soul.

He saw a man made of a light brighter than that around him.

"Do not presume to take others from my hand again, Child of Gaia. Their realm is not yours. Gaia is your patron, not Ahn-Ruut."

Miraaj lay sleeping at his feet.

"I shall tell you a secret before you go."

His head ached from the brilliance.

"Gaia is of all Creators, as Drothor is of all Destroyers."

The clarity destroyed his mind.

"You will not remember. But we are all the same. All gods, all goddesses, great or small, we are the same. We have different names, different faces, but we are all of Gaia."

The brilliance was gone.

All that remained was the cooling touch of darkness and sleep.

*       *       *

He awoke with morning light streaming onto his face through a small hole. He stared at it for a while, trying to remember another light, and what it meant. Then he sat up.

He was in one of the sandy silk tents, lying on cushions embroidered with glowing glyphs he recognized as healing words. He rolled his neck so the bones popped, then stretched and twisted so his spine did the same. He rose stiffly to his feet, every muscle groaning in protest. He felt oddly out of place and only tentatively in control of his body.

He walked to the entrance and pushed the tent flap aside to look out at the camp. All around kjaan hurried from tent to tent, speaking in rapid Kjaan-Thir, collecting this or that before rushing back to their own home.

He was wondering what the fuss was about when one of them saw him. Her eyes widened and she immediately fell to her knees, one arm extended with a hand palm up and the other crossing her breast in the gesture of respect. His brow wrinkled for a moment, but when others noticed and they all did the same, he stared on with surprise. He had no idea why they were doing this.

Then there was a movement, and Miraaj stepped out from around a tent with Malia at her side.

Everything rushed back to him. He gaped in amazement and growing joy at the Jinn as she walked forward with a grin. He hugged her fiercely when she got close enough. "You're alive!"

"Thanks to you. You walked into the realm of Ahn-Ruut and brought me back."

The name of the Kjaan god resonated in his mind, and brilliant whispers danced across his memory, but they did not draw near, and they were swiftly forgotten in the celebration that followed.

Description
Malia shrieked with laughter as Eirnah bowled her over and washed her face. Seris looked up from the scroll Miraaj had given him and smiled.  The girl was actually quite charming now that she was freed from her self-created prison, and he enjoyed his time watching her. The spirit wolf loved the child as well, and any child who had continued their cruelty to her was quickly silenced when they were swiftly knocked onto their rears and their vision was filled with the face of a snarling wolf.

As the two continued their play, Seris returned to his studies. Kjaan-Thir was completely different from any Aranian language, and it took a while to translate even short sentences. All languages from Arania had at least some base in Atiriasic, the god tongue. Lalaisan, the Old Tongues of the elves and the dwarves, and even Twitrin, Bubblic, and Fierish had the roots in the language of Gaia. But the Kjaan, from a different land entirely, had a completely different language. The Spirit's knowledge did not extend far past the borders of Arania, so he had to learn the language the hard way.

He ran a finger across the line of flowing glyphs, struggling to remember what each stroke meant and what they meant combined. He strained at his work for nearly half an hour, before he realized how dark it was. The sunlight filtered through the tent walls had vanished, leaving only the lamp light and the shine of Eirnah's fur.

The prince's brow wrinkled in confusion. It was early morning, and there hadn't been a cloud in the sky. What had caused the sudden dark?

Suddenly a scream rent the air. The wolf immediately took a defensive pose over the child on the ground, tail erect and ruff flared. A growl sounded deep in her chest as Seris swiftly rose to his feet. He called out a spell and an ice blue hemisphere of energy surrounded the wolf and girl. "Stay here!" he said right before walking out of the tent.

It was pitch black outside the walls. He couldn't even see the light that should have filtered out of the tent. All he saw was a slight line of light where the tent flap did not line up with the wall.

Another scream came, and he started moving again. He dropped a spell on the ground that glowed with a phosphorescent light that penetrated the unnatural dark, then forged onward in the direction of the scream.

He tripped over several unseen objects, and once he walked into an empty tent, collapsing it. He spent several minutes fighting to get free of the tangle. But soon after he saw a dim glow, and he rushed forward. He saw the vague form of a person just beyond the light and reached for them before freezing.

The dying light was radiating from a golden knife inscribed with bright blue runes. The hand that grasped it was small and delicate, a woman's hand. Strips of gold twined up her arm from the wrist, and it seemed to melt into the golden brown skin. But the hand was not connected to the standing figure.

It was connected to the body of the Jinn, lying dead on the ground. Just beyond her, now crouching, was a grinning likho demon.

Cold rage flowed through his veins. And for the first time ever, when the Spirit rose, he took control. He snatched its power and lashed out violently. The likho's grin turned into a mask of horror as it was consumed in a brilliant flash of light. He had turned before the light even struck.

His rage was terrible. He threw his arms wide and blasted the darkness apart, blowing over tents and anything else in the area over as well. Suddenly revealed, nearly two dozen demons whooped wildly and charged for him. They took no more than two steps each.

Then he threw his soul out, following the twisted cords of energy that trailed from the atomized bodies to a rip in the world. He dove through, shattering the thin tear into a massive hole.  On the other side was an empty and desolate plain topped by a sky the color of ash. Just in front of him, a kindrel had been directing more demons toward the rip. She whirled as he smashed through, and hissed at the presence she could not see. He lashed out again, and her eyes widened. A wall of ethereal flame roared up in front of him, scorching his soul. He pulled back, then soared high above her and dropped like a stone. He shot through the fire and latched hands that did not exist around her throat. Her spirit writhed as ice cold power tore through it. She tried to scream, but all that came out was an increasingly high pitched whine. Her followers had long since fled.

Then he felt others touching his material form. One was a pulsing blue being flecked with gold and surrounded by agitated orange sparks. Another was a pearly orb that howled its dismay. Both called for him to return, that he was in danger. He ignored them, intent on his prey.

Then one more touched him, and this one was a pure, blinding white. This one did not tell him to return, but spoke of confusion. It was scared, and it was hurt, and it was afraid of the dark it saw around him. It reminded him of another child, an elven one, who had been hurt and afraid, who he had been unable to help. It reminded him of the grief the child's mother had felt.

He let go, and the paralyzed kindrel fell to the ground, eyes glazed. He stopped pulling away from his body, letting it gently drag him back. And as he slipped back into it, he wrapped his arms around Malia, pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her spirit ease.

Then he released her and turned to Miraaj. He refused to let her die. He dove away from his body one more time, now following the silver trail of light that lead upward into the sky. He flew higher and higher into the sun, into brilliant, glorious light.

*       *       *

It was too bright.

He felt fragile as a glass butterfly. The living were not meant to walk here, but it was more than that. The light threatened to crush his soul.

He saw a man made of a light brighter than that around him.

"Do not presume to take others from my hand again, Child of Gaia. Their realm is not yours. Gaia is your patron, not Ahn-Ruut."

Miraaj lay sleeping at his feet.

"I shall tell you a secret before you go."

His head ached from the brilliance.

"Gaia is of all Creators, as Drothor is of all Destroyers."

The clarity destroyed his mind.

"You will not remember. But we are all the same. All gods, all goddesses, great or small, we are the same. We have different names, different faces, but we are all of Gaia."

The brilliance was gone.

All that remained was the cooling touch of darkness and sleep.

*       *       *

He awoke with morning light streaming onto his face through a small hole. He stared at it for a while, trying to remember another light, and what it meant. Then he sat up.

He was in one of the sandy silk tents, lying on cushions embroidered with glowing glyphs he recognized as healing words. He rolled his neck so the bones popped, then stretched and twisted so his spine did the same. He rose stiffly to his feet, every muscle groaning in protest. He felt oddly out of place and only tentatively in control of his body.

He walked to the entrance and pushed the tent flap aside to look out at the camp. All around kjaan hurried from tent to tent, speaking in rapid Kjaan-Thir, collecting this or that before rushing back to their own home.

He was wondering what the fuss was about when one of them saw him. Her eyes widened and she immediately fell to her knees, one arm extended with a hand palm up and the other crossing her breast in the gesture of respect. His brow wrinkled for a moment, but when others noticed and they all did the same, he stared on with surprise. He had no idea why they were doing this.

Then there was a movement, and Miraaj stepped out from around a tent with Malia at her side.

Everything rushed back to him. He gaped in amazement and growing joy at the Jinn as she walked forward with a grin. He hugged her fiercely when she got close enough. "You're alive!"

"Thanks to you. You walked into the realm of Ahn-Ruut and brought me back."

The name of the Kjaan god resonated in his mind, and brilliant whispers danced across his memory, but they did not draw near, and they were swiftly forgotten in the celebration that followed.