The World of Myth Magazine

The year is 514, Vladimir the Young is Sage-King of the human kingdom of Thuraen.

The year is 5,297, Ulan is High Prince, Derek is Low Prince and Sienna Alknown is Mother Druid of the sylvan princedom of Greenwood Vale.

Paechra Lightheart stood beside her sister druids in the human village on the most northern tip of Thuraen. She and the small army of sylvan, nicknamed Paechra’s Army were still a good eleven days away from Andrapaal, the heart of the human kingdom and the place where Paechra feared the uprising of the dreaded vorsurk was already taking place. The old man dressed in the blue of Thuraen’s sages had just claimed to Head Truth Keeper Anton that there had been no word from Andrapaal for six whole months. For the sylvan race, such silence would mean very little, but the human kingdom functioned on the passing of messages and the recording of the written word. Paechra’s observation had quickly led her to believe that the humankind were obsessed with writing and equally convinced of their own importance.

“Again, I ask, and I expect to be answered,” stated the old sage, Sage Williamsons, in a huff. “What do you know of the happenings in Andrapaal, and who are all of these people?”

“Sage Williamsons, I sadly know as little as you do of our precious capital,” replied Anton. “I have been traveling with Queen Catherine, Michael Stormsong, Thomas the Butcher, one of the Chosen Eleven, and of course, the sylvan Paechra Lightheart, daughter of Therdous Lightheart.”

“Lightheart and Stormsong?” cried Sage Williamsons in surprise.

From the same tower where the sage had appeared, there came two younger figures, both dressed in robes the color red.

“Yohan, Peter, please fetch me volume eight and volume three hundred and eight of the most current series of historic tomes,” requested the elder sage.

“As you so demand,” stated Yohan with a bow.

“As you wish, so we obey, great sage,” added Peter, his bow a little deeper and longer.

“Sycophants, the pair of them,” spat Sage Williamsons in annoyance. “And yet, on occasion they prove useful.”

“You had not thought to send one or both to the capital?” asked Sarah Lightheart. “If you so desperately wanted to know what was happening there, surely these two younger humans would be able to visit, take note and then report back to you.”

“The creatures speak, and with a surprising grasp of our language,” said Sage Williamsons without any effort trying to hide his disrespect.

Anton coughed and tried to hide a smile while Sarah, Paechra, and many of the other sylvan showed obvious signs of a frustration that bordered on anger.

“Might I be so bold as to remind His Wisdom that Therdous Lightheart, Paechra’s and Sarah’s partner was a blue robed sage just like yourself?” asked Anton.

“If it be written then so it must be true,” stated Sage Williamsons. “I merely wish to consult volume eight to confirm that such is in fact, fact.”

Anton nodded and gave the druids a look that requested they hold their frustration for a moment.

“Here, Your Wisdom,” stated Peter with a deep bow, upon his swift return he offered up a leather-bound tome that reminded Paechra of the spell books carried by vorsurk magicians.

“No fair!” cried Yohan, obviously disappointed. “I found that tome first, I carried it all the way down the stairs, and then YOU ambushed me in the doorway.”

Paechra as well as others could clearly see blood dribbling from Yohan’s split lip, an injury he had not had before rushing with Peter back towards the tower.

“Here,” stated Paechra kindly, the image of the dove enveloping her form as she evoked a spell of healing. “Let me help you.”

“What is this?” cried Yohan, suddenly afraid, rushing back towards the tower.

Sage Williamsons’ eyes also grew wide as the younger Lightheart activated her casting. Looking at Anton for guidance and seeing that the Head Truth Keeper stood his ground, instead of running himself the elder sage called after the fleeing youth.

“Yohan, please if it be not too much trouble for you would you remember to find volume three hundred and eight and bring it to me.”

“Yes, Your Wisdom,” murmured Yohan.

“With your permission, Your Wisdom, I shall accompany Yohan to assist him with his search,” offered Peter.

Many of the sylvan noticed the look of annoyance that crossed Yohan’s face and the scheming smile that featured proudly upon Peter’s. Sage Williamsons ignored both boys, instead focusing all of his attention upon Paechra and those who stood beside her.

Not hearing a response from the sage in blue robes, both boys bowed awkwardly and then took their leave, racing each other back to the tower.

“Are you always so unkind?” asked Sarah, Paechra’s mother.

“Look around you, feel the sun on your face, take up the smell of the salty, fresh air,” laughed the elder sage, yet not in a joyful way. “The pair that have been given to me to train and educate are already lazy, clueless, useless, thanks to the sun and the sand.”

“And that has nothing to do with the teacher and your teaching?” enquired Heidi. “Nothing at all?”

“I have spent many a year here, trying to turn boys into learned men,” replied Sage Williamsons. “And yet the constant sunshine and wondrous weather make it impossible for boys to concentrate, to focus such as they need to do.”

“I can see your problem, Your Wisdom,” suggested Thomas. “I would struggle to do anything but fish and swim if I lived here.”

“There, see, the young butcher understands,” said the elder sage, thankful to have someone back up his actions. “It is of no wonder to me why they did choose you for our capital’s council.”

“Thank you, Sage Williamsons,” said Thomas with a beaming smile. It was quickly followed up with a deep bow of gratitude when he realized he had forgotten such a sign of respect.

“Hmmm… Well… Yes… Let us see here…” mumbled the elder sage as he ignored Thomas then and turned his attention to the great tome. “Therdous Lightheart arrives in Andrapaal… He befriends Chief Sage Vladamir… Joins the sages… Those last two points should be in reverse order, surely.”

With unexpected nimbleness the old man flicked through the book, eyes of a light green, like fresh fonds growing from a seaside palm scanned each column searching for a particular passage.

“Ah… Yes… I do recall now to know of the man…” then announced the sage. “Therdous Lightheart, credited with the translation of lines five, eight, and ten of the fourth stanza, and lines eight, eleven, and twelve of the eleventh stanza of The Prophecy of Andrapaal.”

“My father was quite the linguist,” suggested Paechra. “It was the prophecy that drew him to your kingdom and its heart.”

“But then your father suddenly vanishes… There is no mention of him anywhere…” continued Sage Williamsons, seemingly ignoring Paechra’s comments, and yet, still, speaking directly to her.

“He was taken, I know he was… Taken by one of your… Students…” suggested Paechra.

Williamsons raised both disheveled eyebrows. This accusation he obviously did hear.

“Well, perhaps not one of YOUR students specifically,” added Heidi. “But Paechra has told me some of what she did experience during her time in Andrapaal, and she swears that she did actually see her father.”

“Ah, yes, the fate of the father…” said Williamsons.

By then Yohan had returned with yet another volume from the tower’s library. A long, deep scratch marked his left cheek. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you, boy, you are now dismissed,” Sage Williamsons said, taking the tome from the bowing Yohan.

“Thanking you graciously, Your Wisdom,” stated Yohan, reverently.

The sage in blue ignored the boy.

“I believe it is about halfway… Yes… Here it is…” muttered the old man. “Therdous Lightheart, slain in cold blood by the outcast, Johann Stormsong, son of Michael Stormsong, also known to some as Raven.”

“No!” cried Paechra as memories flooded back to her. “That passage is false; the boy was framed.”

“If it is written…” Sage Williamsons began.

Sarah looked at her daughter, eyes wide in disbelief.

“You knew of this?” she mouthed, her voice a whisper.

“But you yourself have already pronounced that passages are recorded incorrectly to the timeline,” suggested Heidi. “Could it not be possible that information is also written wrong, a person’s own remembrance of a situation where surely other viewpoints of the same scenario would be sought by you sages to collaborate or to shine light upon a variation of the telling?”

“What is the meaning of this, Anton?” huffed the old sage. “Are you not still the defender of the truth, of our truth and our way of life?”

“Of course, Your Wisdom,” replied Head Truth Keeper Anton, gruffly, he then turned towards Paechra and raised his finger accusingly. “Be silent, witch!”

“Paechra, Sarah, Heidi, please walk with me,” interjected Mother Druid Sienna Alknown.

Paechra made to reply to Anton, but then thought better of it. Sienna had not raised her voice, nor had she altered her tone, and yet, Paechra could sense that it was in her best interest to not reply to the human.

Without waiting to see if she was going to be obeyed, Sienna turned away from the tower and headed back for the ocean. Standing barefooted with the waves gently lapping over her ankles, the elder druid smiled up at the midday sun. There were a few clouds littering an otherwise blue sky, the day was far calmer than the people. Paechra and her mother joined Sienna, with Paechra’s friend Heidi not far behind them.

“The humans do so frustrate me,” Paechra muttered.

“Hush, daughter Paechra,” soothed Sienna, taking Paechra by the hand but all the while continuing to look out to sea.

“But” protested the younger Lightheart, a squeeze of Sienna’s hand in hers causing Paechra to pause.

“Look out there, daughter,” urged Sienna. “What do you see?”

Sarah, Heidi, and Paechra all turned their attention towards the distant horizon.

“There is something there,” suggested Heidi. “I cannot make out what it is, but it is there.”

“I see it too,” said Sarah. “Is it that accursed ship?”

“This is the most northern point of Thuraen,” said Sienna. “In fact, we may not even by standing within the boundaries of the kingdom anymore.”

“What do you mean, Mother?” asked Sarah Lightheart.

“I do not believe that what we see on the horizon is the ghoul ship,” suggested Sienna. “That has left our sight long ago.”

“What then?” asked Paechra. “An island, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” replied Sienna. “It is most likely that your assumption is correct, daughter, although I do not recall passing an island before we arrived here.”

“Nor do I,” said Heidi. “We were all quite distracted though so it could have easily been missed.”

“My point is, sisters, we must respect the beliefs of these humans whom we wish to save,” stated the mother druid wisely. “Else there is truly no point in us being here.”

“It would be just like in the past, we gifting humankind the written word and their so-called freedom, and then vanishing to leave them to fend for themselves,” added Paechra.

“Infants, left to battle with dogs, no worse, wolves in truth,” mused Sarah. “Is there little wonder then that they cling to their beliefs and wish not for us to interfere?”

“It is still infuriating though to think that Thuraen refuses as a whole to consider to their north is an island, potential friendship, possible ownership, and yet because it is outside their eleven-day radius it is deemed non-existent,” said Paechra to which the others agreed.

“So, we may return then, turn our backs also upon said island, whatever else is in the far distance, and focus our attention wholly and solely upon the here and the now?” suggested Sienna.

“You always know the right things to say, Mother Druid Sienna,” said Heidi with a smile.

“I guess that may be due to my years of experience, daughter,” replied Sienna as she released Paechra’s hand.

Suddenly Paechra, Heidi, and Sarah noticed that Sienna’s skin shimmered and then began to wrinkle. The effects of the time spent in the cocoon while aboard The Picturesque Picaresque were suddenly wearing off. In an instant, Sienna appeared to age another century.

“Mother!” the trio cried out as one.

“Fear not, my daughters,” croaked Sienna as her frame that stood straight and strong only a moment before, was now hunched. “This is merely a sign that I must return to my cocoon if I wish to see out this journey.”

“Is there nothing that we can do to help you?” asked Paechra, the blue aura of healing already shimmering over her skin.

“Nothing at all?” asked Sarah, and then Heidi, both taking one of Paechra’s hands in theirs and adding their own magic to the spell.

“No, daughters, but I thank thee all for your offered support,” answered the elder druid. “All I need is rest, perhaps a few days only, Prince Ulan can be my company if he so wishes, though I doubt I will be of much.”

“No,” consider Paechra. “Our High Prince Ulan can do many things but he has not the ability to join you in your cocoon.”

“I hesitate to suggest that perhaps it is you, sister who accompanies the mother druid then,” added Heidi. “I sense that your leadership will be needed while we remain here with His Wonderment and the two servant boys.”

“Yes, I wonder about this Sage Williamsons, and also how it is that Anton and Thomas will change as we venture closer and closer to their home,” suggested Sarah.

“We must watch the two humans who will accompany us, they will be our guides, but they will discover the world that they lead us into will have changed,” suggested Sienna.

“Anton will show little of his emotion physically, but his aura will betray his true feelings as it always does,” said Paechra. “Thomas on the other hand is easily read, I shall make note to keep an open eye upon both of them.”

“Nay, daughter, you shall not take on this responsibility alone,” suggested Paechra’s mother.

“No, we will help you,” agreed Heidi. “You will have much that will require your focus over the coming days here and when we travel again.”

“Such is the fate of a leader,” sighed Paechra. “Such is the responsibility I have undertaken gladly.”

“Then we must return to the tower, to our people, and to those people that we are trying to save,” said Sienna. “Come, daughters, destiny awaits.”

With that said, all four turned away from the horizon and strode in time with each other, back to the tower.

The remainder of the day passed in reasonable peace. As suggested, Mother Druid Sienna Alknown retired to a tent that was erected upon the beach for her. High Prince Ulan was introduced to Sage Williamsons, but he too claimed weariness from the sea voyage and joined Sienna. Paechra did ask that she be allowed access to the tower and its library of tomes, but she was quickly informed that this would not be possible.

“I only wish to discover more about my father and his time spent in your kingdom,” Paechra requested.

“Good lady, why should you focus upon the past, so long ago, when you yourself have a story that has yet to be captured,” Sage Williamsons gave as a reply. “As a matter of fact, it will take me many a day to meet with all of you in groups or as individuals to capture your recent times, the difficulty will be in pinpointing the when from which we must begin our recording.”

Paechra considered suggesting that what Williamsons was proposing would be an obvious waste of time, but then she considered Sienna’s wise words that advised the respect of the human culture. Paechra remembered arriving with Raven at the gates of Andrapaal and his surprise at discovering nobody there to greet him. That same memory reminded the younger Lightheart the emphasis that Raven had placed on the importance of reporting to the Hall of Records. Her friend’s voice echoed in Paechra’s mind encouraging her to tell the sages where she had been and all she had seen, all for the benefit of generations yet to come. Thinking of Raven made it suddenly so evident just how long they had been apart.

“I wonder where it is that you have been, what you have seen, and where it is that you are now,” murmured Paechra.

“You are indeed a strange one, just as Anton suggested,” replied Sage Williamsons.

“Oh, I am sorry Your Wisdom, my mind was elsewhere,” admitted Paechra.

“Have we need for swords and such?” asked the old sage, suddenly alarmed.

“I see that Anton has told you much about me,” observed the druid. “Much that he has seen, but certainly does not understand.”

“If it is written, so must it be true,” said Williamsons. “Such is the motto taught to sages of all ages and all robe colors.”

“Words can have a magic all of their very own,” Paechra gave cryptically as a reply.

“Would it trouble you greatly if I wrote that down?” asked Sage Williamsons.

“Do you believe it to be true?” Paechra asked in return.

“Magic is forbidden in all of Thuraen, as you well know, even here at our most northern point,” the sage said, a reminder. “I merely wish to record the words as yours, should any want to look back upon them at a later date.”

“Then fetch your student sages and ask them to bring many a page, and ink,” said Paechra. “I’ve a story for you that will fill a tome all by itself and it just so happens we seem to have the time for me to tell it.”

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