SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Awakening: Chapter Six

With all the vengeance of a shooting star, the sapphire streak hurtled hundreds of feet towards the ground below. Eyes of golden sunshine blinked furiously against the wind’s tearing fingers, struggling to take in a view that was all too rapidly drawing closer. In a fraction of a heartbeat jade-dappled flashes gave way to an entire landscape, painstakingly set out in miniature. Like a tiny model map, each giant tower seemed but the size of a child’s toy, each of the great hanging walkways made of no more than kindling and each of the majestically carved cavern entrances simply the smallest of stone etchings.

However their minute proportions only remained so for the duration of several frantic breaths until one of the towers began to soar past. The mighty river at the foot of the structure rose to engulf the view, its roaring passage adding to the scream of wind in the unlikely comet’s ears, completely overwhelming the whisper-like gasp of a deep inhalation.

Impact struck harder than an army’s charge, knocking breath from a fragile body and plunging the world into a watery swirl of bubbles. A few bold rays of sunshine lanced down into the depths here, battling with all their strength to warm the icy darkness, but could do little to aid the limp figure caught in the firm grip of the river’s currents.

Another, more bruising fall seemed but moments away as the water hurried ever onward to cascade over a second rocky lip. Effortlessly carrying the slender figure of its latest acquisition, the river nonetheless found its treasure prised from its grip by a timely hand. Pale, well-practiced fingers latched on to one of the larger rocks that lined the river bed, arresting the figure’s progress. With surprising strength, the former comet boldly defied the currents still dragging frantically at her, propelling herself up and over to the river’s edge with several strong kicks.

Seconds later a bare, distinctly feminine body hauled itself up onto the fern-lined bank. Crowds of tear-shaped droplets trailed forlornly over slicked skin, whose pale blue tint made it seem as if it were touched by moonlight, despite the sun’s rebirth mere hours ago. The figure paid them no mind though, brushing the dew-drops away with an impatient hand. Instead her amber coloured eyes searched her surrounds intently, drinking in every detail.

It did not take long to determine that she was standing on a kind of giant shelf, sandwiched between waterfalls. Behind her, the rocky cliff face loomed imposingly above, as if to remind her of how far she had fallen. Splitting its jagged surface, the river gracefully spilt over the edge, leaving a rainbow-hued mist permanently in its wake. Flowing on for roughly a mile, the meandering course wound its way by the sole structure on the grassy shelf before promptly disappearing from sight, plummeting enthusiastically down another few hundred feet to the true floor of the canyon.

The enormous towers of marble she had glimpsed on the way down lay scattered about below, some rivalling in height the massive snow pines that partially concealed them from view. Each of the structures were unique, some standing in small clusters, others connected by wooden walkways suspended from the trees above. Yet the figure seemed uninterested in what lay below, instead being more concerned with the only building in her immediate environment.

To the casual on-looker, it seemed much the same as the remainder of the towers. The white marble carried the same multitude of tiny black veins permeating its midst and was likewise carved with the same subtle grooves that the observer knew decorated the buildings below, despite being undetectable from her current vantage point. She also knew that such grooves served to produce an eerie harmony at the wind’s lightest touch, hence gifting the structures strewn around the canyon with their name- the Towers of Midnight Song.

Yet despite the similarities, the differences were immediately apparent. Although the shelf it stood on insured that it overlooked the entire canyon, the building itself remained distinctly smaller than its counterparts- she estimated four floors, no more. The second and most obvious difference was the large disk, rather resembling a lily pad, that extended out parallel to the ground from about three quarters of the way up. Almost half of it jutted out over the river and the observer realized how lucky she had been not to hit the solid stone on her descent from the cliff.

Perhaps the most significant difference however was its isolation. Not a single other building stood to accompany it on the immense ledge, nor was it connected to any of the buildings below. Instead it rose, almost defiantly, above them all.

With such blatant symbolism, it was no wonder so many rumors abounded about the tower, the figure mused. Whispers could often be heard amongst those that lived in the ravine, tales of heart-wrenching wails heard over the music of the towers, the cries of an elven woman centuries dead, yet unable to pass into the afterlife. Such tales had leant the tower the grand sounding title of the Banshee’s Loft, although few professed to believe in such fantastical creatures. It was strange, the observer pondered as her eyes lit on a bundle close by the foot of the tower. So many claimed not to believe in the Banshee of the tower, yet so few actually had the nerve to approach the edifice.

Enough of idle wonderings, she chided herself. She most certainly believed in Banshees and was not afraid to approach. Good thing too, she grinned, for her equipment was not far from the entrance. Not to mention the fact she lacked the time to creep meekly around. She was late again, something that seemed to have developed into a habit recently.

Striding confidently over, she retrieved the bundle without so much as another glance at the white marble spire. A few economical movements sheathed lithe limbs in well worn leather and buckled a battered sheath over shapely hips. Then she was off again, veering away from the river to intersect the cliff’s lip further to the east. Beneath her feet about here lay Snowshield Lodge, the dining hall of the Towers of Midnight Song- a place that had not been graced with her presence for, oh about the last 36 hours, she calculated. Nor would she, no doubt, for several hours to come. All things in their own time, she reminded herself with a shrug.

Glancing down, she looked past her booted toes, poised on the granite edge of the cliff. A large stone balcony melded out of the stone about fifty feet below them, dotted with clusters of benches and tables. Laughter wafted up to her sharply pointed ears from a small group of fellow elves lounging in the dappled sunshine, the remains of a veritable banquet set out before them. She regarded them enviously for the space of a heartbeat, before her eyes sought the trees that overhung their revel.

The gnarled branches of snow pines twisted in all directions over the canyon, some brushing against the hard rock of the cliff and all forming a veritable maze of foliage. A maze that could take you almost anywhere you wanted to go, provided you knew the right way. Thankfully for the elven girl on top of the cliff, she did.

Taking several deliberate strides back, she fixed her tawny eyes on a sturdy branch a short distance below and several feet away from the edge she stood on. Not taking her gaze from it, she sprinted toward the cliff’s rim, the scenery forming an emerald blur around her. Suddenly she was airborne, soaring through the atmosphere with the speed and grace of an eagle. Exhilaration raced through her blood, bringing the world into sharper focus for an instant. Then, as swiftly as it had begun, it was over, her feet meeting the branch with a solid thud.

Pausing for a moment, she stopped to catch her breath and her bearings. Some fifty feet below, level with the balcony of Snowshield Lodge, one of the numerous hanging walkways rocked ever so slightly below. A golden gaze followed its progress to a twin pair of snow pines, whose epic proportions ensured they outstripped even the largest of their brethren. Close to half a mile in diameter, each trunk was large enough to house a small army. The thought made the etrielle chuckle, knowing how close to the truth it was.

From the side of the gnarled bole of the first snow pine a modest porch had been formed out of the natural growth. It was here that the walkway ended and it was here she was headed.

Her journey to the monolithic trees was an athletic one. Leaping from branch to branch, she ran along their length with the deft balance of a dryad, dropping down a “level” every so often so that her path would intersect with the porch. Yet despite her exertion, she reached her destination without being at all out of breath.

Wasting no time by looking around- as she was already late and more than familiar with the surrounds- she hurried in through the double doors leading into the tree itself, catching a glimpse of the majestic bird seemingly formed of flame that had been carved into the panels. Welcome to the Phoenix Nest, she greeted herself wryly, hurrying through the neatly appointed common area and out another door beyond.

The second of the giant snow pines met her eyes as she stepped out. Strung between the pair, a large platform, about fifty feet wide and thrice as long, hung suspended from the solid branches above. Sturdy railing lined its edges, providing ample seating for the two dozen elves that lounged along the length. Another dozen or so stood queued in three well-spaced lines in the centre, each wielding a wooden weapon with which they were practicing a series of techniques.

As she stepped onto the training ground, a voice called her name.

“Ariel!”

Turning, Ariel saw a familiar figure approach and smiled in greeting, “Hey Telany.”

Placing bronzed hands on curvaceous hips, the new comer gave her an appraising look. Clear azure eyes sparkled in her heart shaped face, seeming to take in every last detail before flashing with mirth. “Care to share what you saw in your Reverie last night?” she asked with a mischievous grin, referring to the trance-like state that elves entered into in lieu of sleep, enabling them to revisit scenes from their past.

“Actually, I didn’t Reverie at all,” Ariel replied absently, catching a glimpse of another familiar face over Telany’s shoulder as her eyes sought out their instructor. Attractive without being gorgeous, Sundil shared the same pale skin as Ariel, highlighting eyes of pale green. Those same eyes held a seriousness that was lacking in their companion, as if each of his nine decades weighed heavily upon him. Still they twinkled brightly enough, with an almost provocative gleam, as he suggested, “Then perhaps you have merely been so lucky to be blessed with one of the Allfather's kisses!”

Ariel laughed as she turned away, thinking that perhaps his suggestion came the closest to summing up her glorious experience at dawn.. Shaking away the memory, she crossed the training ground to speak with the head instructor of the Rising Phoenix- one Nadriel Duskflight. He wasn’t hard to find. Just follow the swooning females, Ariel thought with disdain, trying not to roll her eyes as she waited for the embattled teacher to finish demonstrating a rising slash to a cabal of elven girls that surrounded him.

In due course however, the handsome elf managed to extricate himself from his avid followers and approach his somewhat less enamoured student. “Mistress Anariel,” he greeted her by her full name, a tolerant smile playing about his lips. “It seems your Reverie grows deeper and deeper by the years you spend here with us! Thankfully though,” he held up a slim fingered hand to forestall any outburst, “As the years have passed you have made up your occasional truancy with a substantial increase in skill.”

“Forgive my tardiness, Master Duskflight,” Ariel began, not sure whether to be irritated by the instructor’s mention of her late arrival or amused by her predictability, “but I had an early training session with the Lionar.”

“In that case there is nothing to forgive,” he inclined his head slightly. “If you will rejoin your friends for a few moments, we are sure to begin some sparring soon.”

Inclining her head in return, Ariel moved over to join them, trying not to feel too weary over what seemed to be one long training session. Strangely enough the task was not too difficult and instead of feeling tired, hungry and annoyed, she found herself instead refreshed and energized as she strode through a whispered sea of eternal loving devotion, all directed at the young Master Duskflight.

Telany and Sundil waited patiently for her on the opposite side, each turning away from the other as they watched her closely. As Ariel emerged from the press of feminine bodies, Telany quickly stepped forward to take her elbow, steering her aside a few paces until they were just outside Sundil’s hearing.

“Well?” she asked expectantly, the bright and mischievous glint returning to her eye as she stepped in close.

“What?” came Ariel’s exasperated reply. “Has my skin turned green or something? Why are you all looking at me strangely?”

Unbothered by her friend’s tone, Telany pressed on. “Girl, you practically have the skin tone of a Gold Elf. If we were in the middle of the light, they could see you from Moonsong,” she exclaimed, referring to the complex of towers at the far end of the canyon which housed the faculty of magic. “You certainly must have been busy last night! So… what’s his name? Surely noone around here, unless…” Telany trailed off with a significant glance toward the handsome headmaster of the Rising Phoenix, who was currently disengaging himself from another eager worshipper.

He was very attractive, Ariel supposed. Rather like a glorified version of Sundil. They shared the same pale skin that bespoke Moon Elven blood, the same long fingered hands and high cheekbones. They even wore their black hair in the same fashion, although Sundil’s was slightly longer and tended to escape its ponytail to fall in strands about his face. With all the similarities it’s a wonder he doesn’t have all the girls falling over him too, Ariel thought wryly. Yet Nadriel seemed to posses a polish to him that Sundil lacked, as if the Allfather had been in somewhat of a rush when he had created her friend. And Telany suspected she’d been with Nadriel? The thought made Ariel laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she exclaimed. He’s never even looked at me twice,” she paused for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain where she had been without it sounding incriminating to her friend’s mind.

Fortunately she was saved the explaination by the clear tones of Master Duskflight’s voice calling them to attention and requesting the class to line up. Obediently Ariel moved to take up her customary position against the railing, Telany reclining on one side and Sundil on the other. Casually, almost nonchalantly, the instructor strolled along the line, pausing when he reached Sundil.

“Master Sundil, Mistress Anariel, would you do us the honour of going first?” he asked rhetorically, gesturing to the centre of the training area.

From the corner of her eye, Ariel caught Sundil glance nervously her way, before slapping on his poker face. “You better be ready, Anariel. I’ve been practicing my Feather step for the last tenday,” he announced with a cheeky wink, before stepping forward, sword in hand.

She did not follow, but rather stepped to the side, casually unbuckling her sword. This was part of the reason for Sundil’s nervous glance, she knew, for in the entire class only she carried a real sword. Even Nadriel declined to wear his weapon while training, preferring instead to wield a wooden replica, like his students.

Banishing her thoughts, Ariel picked up one of the wooden longswords Nadriel kept stocked. “You have got to be kidding me, Sundil!” she retorted, more because her training partner expected it than any real need to boast about her unique style. “You know I have it all over you with my Blade Dance.”

“Besides, your Feather Step should be called Orc Step for all its grace,” Telany taunted from the sideline, giving Ariel a sisterly pat on the back. A chorus of laughter erupted at the exchange, sending the mortified Sundil bright red as he bit his lip, pointing the training sword at Ariel.