The World of Myth Magazine

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 sat upon the beach, watching the sun set upon yet another day. Beside her sat her good friend Heidi, and behind them sat Sage Williamsons, the old human, his book held unsteadily between the far younger sages, Yohan and Peter. The far elder sage that was dressed in the blue robes of his station berated his two apprentices for the silly games that they played, Peter and Yohan trying their best to cause the other to fail in one duty or another.

“Will the pair of you please just stop!” cried Williamsons in utter frustration.

Yohan had leaned slightly to his left, causing the tome to weigh heavier for Peter, in turn causing that boy to stumble back a step. As the great book of history shifted, Sage Williamsons quill splodged upon the page. A great, dark spot began to spread, ruining everything that the old man had written, the twenty lines or so on that very page anyway.

“I shall grab the blotting paper!” announced Peter, hurriedly. “So sorry, Your Wisdomness.”

“You’ll take too long!” cried Yohan. “Here, Oh Knowledged One…” He added as he shoved the book into Williamsons’ arms.

“What..? What…? Just like bloody children…” cried the blue-robed sage, exasperated.

“They are no longer young, and not yet old,” mused Paechra, pausing midway through the retelling of her tale.

“The sylvan of a similar age would be running through the forest, or if here, splashing in that sea and seeing just how far out they could swim,” added Heidi.

“I would say, that there little island, just on the horizon, that would probably be my limit now,” suggested Paechra, making conversation with her friend, not really directing what she was saying at the old human.

Never-the-less the old human was the first to interject.

“That there island is no longer part of our kingdom, and so I doubt greatly that any apprentices would have thought to swim there.”

“No longer part? Did you lose a great battle for territory?” asked Heidi, confused.

“It is written, so it must be true,” began Sage Williamsons, as he opened the tome to a fresh page. “When the sylvan, you people, first came to our aid and drove off our mutual enemy, the vorsurk, well the lands that we were given were large and vast.”

“So why not retain such lands?” asked Paechra, she was as keen as her friend to hear this tale.

“Kings and Princes make their decisions as the tomes of history are interpreted by the sages of blue, red, and yellow…” explained the sage. “It is written that one of our rulers was fascinated by the enemy, their interest in the strength of mathematical patterns and numbering…”

“It sounds like a kind of magic to me,” laughed Heidi.

Paechra nodded her agreement and turned to smile at the old man.

Sage Williamsons would have none of this though.

“Preposterous! How dare you suggest such a thing!” the sage cried, suddenly going as red as the robes the younger sages wore. “Such a thing as magic is forbidden in our kingdom, and you druid ladies had best remember that while you are here.”

Mother Druid Sienna Alknown had taken refuge with High Prince Ulan and had once more encased herself within her strange cocoon. Paechra had wandered into the tent in need of asking Sienna for advice on something and had received a shrug of the shoulders from the high prince. After choosing to confide such to her friend Heidi and her mother Sarah, it had been agreed amongst the three of them that such spell casting should not be discussed further, so their host could remain at ease. As Williamsons mentioned magic, and its fobiddeness, the two sylvan druids had shared a look and a smirk between them but had not made a sound.

“Where are those two boys?” the elder sage demanded to know.

“Your Wisdom, we could attempt to tell you, but it would require the use of that which you cannot believe in,” suggested Heidi.

“You jest, surely,” the sage replied.

“Of course, she does,” stated Paechra. “We would not dare to break any laws while we stay thanks to your generous hospitality.”

“Yes, well, of course,” said Williamsons. “Any companion of Head Truth Keeper Anton is indeed a friend of Thuraen and Andrapaal both.”

“As you do so speak of the kingdom’s capital, can I please ask again, Your Wisdom, just how long has it been since you have heard any news from the city of Andrapaal?” asked the younger Lightheart.

“Do you wish to know of the city, or of one of its residents?” asked Heidi with a grin.

“It is the city and the kingdom, in fact humanity that we have gathered to save,” answered Paechra, a little hurt that her friend would make such a suggestion.

“Yes, of course,” said Heidi, her smirk fading.

“Although, it would not hurt to discover the welfare of a friend,” mused Paechra, causing Heidi to beam again.

“Alas I have no new news to give you, although what has been unwritten, floating upon the wind as idle gossip does suggest that your friend, The Raven, is less hero and more villain,” muttered the blue-robed sage, Williamsons straining his eyes to see if either of the red-robed boys were returning.

Just at that moment Yohan did appear, Peter not far behind him was attempting to pull him back. Heidi and Paechra with their far superior sight witnessed the boys squabbling. It would still be a while before the pair tired of their fight and remembered the urgent need for blotting paper.

“What do you mean by such a statement, Oh Knowledged One?” asked Paechra, doing well to keep from her tone the worry that filled her heart and mind and caused her aura to grey.

“Yohan is the newest of my apprentices to arrive, much to Peter’s discomfort,” began the elderly human. “Yohan is a quick study, but is prone to gossip, knowing little still what is the difference between news and myth.”

“Such students must surely be of a great burden to you,” suggested Heidi.

“Indeed, it is almost as if I have been cursed twice,” said the sage.

“How so?” asked Heidi and Paechra together.

“If only I could combine the two and have Peter’s interest with Yohan’s ability…” pondered Sage Williamsons, wistfully. “Yohan has a habit of sometimes just disappearing, and when he returns he refuses to allow me to record where it is that he has been,”

“What if we offered to take young Yohan into our care?” suggested Paechra. “We are headed for Andrapaal after all, I strongly sense that your apprentice is trying to find his way back home.”

“What?” asked Heidi, shocked at her friend’s suggested idea. “You want another human, and a child at that, to join the army that we are gathering?”

“Hush Heidi, I suspect that Yohan does not come from the capital city, but some other town that lies upon the North road,” said Paechra, a hurried whisper.

The younger Lightheart waved at her friend to keep quiet as Sage Williamsons pondered Paechra’s rash proposal.

“No, no, no,” replied the sage. “Something such as this has never been done before, if it had then surely it would have been recorded.”

“Then think of just how well you shall be received in the kingdom’s very heart when you are written as the first to try it, especially when it is reported as having turned out to be such a great success,” suggested Paechra.

“What are you doing, Paechra my friend?” murmured Heidi, but Paechra chose to ignore it, and it was difficult for the two sylvan to tell if Sage Williamsons was too elderly to hear.

“Do you truly believe that it will be a success?” asked Sage Williamsons, his milky eyes peering out at the sunset. “Do you truly believe that I would be welcomed back to Andrapaal, I could live out my final years as a citizen, not some sort of outcast… I still don’t know what made Bearheart so… So… If only it were written down…”

“Yes, I suppose, if that is indeed the dream of every old man in blue robes,” said Paechra. “I do not know if the Andrapaal you return to will be the city you so fondly recall.”

“All that I want is for my chance to go home,” said the sage.

“And leave this?” asked Heidi, indicating the beautiful scene, the soft sand, the perfect beach, the calmly lapping ocean. “Why would you leave paradise?”

“It is too hot for an old man, too hot, too humid, and far too wet,” complained the sage. “I grew up in the capital, I grew up with books, and therefore I never had a need to learn how to swim.”

“What about when you wore the robes of red?” asked Heidi. “Did you not spend time by the sea then?”

“No, I was lucky,” stated Sage Williamsons, his thoughts far away. “I was certain that I was being groomed, certain that I was going to be Chief Sage Williamsons… And then I ended up here…”

The old man slapped his arm as an insect landed upon his robes.

“I know that this will most probably offend you, but I would far prefer the cold stone and lifelessness of a city to all of this… This… Nature…” said the sage, the longing for change blatantly obvious.

One of the evening insects buzzed around Paechra’s nose, landed, and bit savagely.

“Oh!” she cried, waving the creature away. “No, Your Wisdomness, please believe me when I say that I have grown up with nature and I have witnessed Andrapaal, and as confusing as the city was to someone like me I could still see both her charm and beauty.”

Just then the two boys arrived, Yohan first with the blotting paper and a deep scratch across one cheek, and Peter not far behind, carrying a pair of blazing torches and a limp.

“Here you are, Oh Knowledgable One,” said Yohan as he thrust the roll of paper into Sage Williamsons’ elderly face and snatched the tome from the old man’s arms.

“I brought torches,” announced Peter, puffing slightly.

“Yes, thank you boys,” muttered the sage dressed in blue. “A little late with the paper, but right on time it seems with the sources of light.”

By then the sun had set and the last of the twilight was fading. Yohan’s head dropped slightly as Peter shot him a smug look.

“If you are worried about writing without the aid of the sun’s light, I could scribe for you instead if you so require,” offered Paechra. “My father has taught me many languages.”

“If you would not have Paechra write, then perhaps one of the boys could do it?” Heidi then suggested.

“No, I will not have anyone other than myself record the histories of this region,” announced Sage Williamsons. “It has been so, since my arrival a decade ago, and I will not be changing such a tradition now.”

In the flickering torchlight both Paechra and Heidi could see the disappointment in both Peter’s and Yohan’s eyes and their auras.

“And it so seems,” the elderly sage announced as he tore his most recent page from the book with a sigh. “We have much to rewrite before we can continue your tale, Miss Lightheart.”

The page was sacrificed to one of the torches that Peter still held, the action surprising both boys.

“Come, quickly then, Peter,” ordered Sage Williamsons. “Place those torches near me, but not too close.”

“Your Wisdom, would you at least allow Paechra and me to hold the torches aloft while the boys assist you by holding open the tome?” suggested Heidi.

“Yes, I suppose that would work,” considered Williamsons. “I fear what would happen if the boys held the torches and the two of you held the book.”

“My story may write itself,” laughed Paechra.

“I was more worried that the boys would set each other alight, or you both, or me, or worse still the tome…” said Sage Williamsons, humorlessly. “To burn words would require us calling upon Anton, Head Truth Keeper, protector of the tomes.

“But you just tore out a page, a page of words that is now ash, vanished upon the winds,” said Paechra, confused.

“That was disposing of a mistake, a blemish upon an otherwise pristine recording,” explained the blue-robed sage. “Do you understand the difference?”

Heidi and Paechra did understand. That statement had not been made for them, but instead for the pair in red, the future scribes of history. The sylvan both wondered how many other so thought mistakes had been torn from the tomes, how many passages had been rewritten, changed slightly, or made to be utterly different if a new version of the past better suited the present day.

“Now, please Paechra Lightheart, can we begin again from the moment you left Andrapaal?” requested the senior sage. “And with Queen Catherine of all people…”

The night proved to be a long one. Sage Williamsons refused to rest; he was determined to capture all of Paechra’s story. At one point Paechra needed to hold both torches as the old sage finally agreed to send the young boys to their rest.

“You must go and fetch us two new torches and two of your kindred, to hold the tome steady,” commanded Sage Williamsons.

“Your Wisdom, I’m not one of your apprentices...” began Heidi.

The old man waved such a suggestion away.

“I understand that, but we cannot leave this recording unfinished, and the boys have no coordination at this time of day, and the torches are close to going out…” argued the blue robe. “Now hurry along… Please?”

“As you so wish, Oh Wise One,” Heidi replied.

While Heidi was gone Williamsons turned his attention to the two tired boys.

“Now Peter, I will require you to lift your efforts with your studies from tomorrow forward, am I clear?” the elder sage commanded.

“Sure… Yooooouuuuuurrrrrr Wiiiiissssssddddoooo… Aaahhhhhh…” agreed Peter.

“No instructions for mmmeeeeeee… Thooooouuuuuggghhhh right… Oooohhhhhh aaaahhhhhhhh Wiiissseeee Oooonnnnneeee… Aaaaahhhhhh…” Yohan said with a great yawn.

“You, Yohan will act as a guide for our visitors as they travel along the North road towards Andrapaal, a great honor boy, I’d ask that you do the red colored robes proud,” said Williamsons gruffly, but proudly. “You were asked for personally by Miss Lightheart here.”

“What, me?” asked Yohan, suddenly awake at hearing such news. “Travelling with the sylvan army?”

“Yes, Yohan, I will be recording the news tomorrow so that it is official,” promised the elder sage.

“I guess that has been decided then,” said Paechra, a little taken aback. She had thought it was merely a suggestion, not yet agreed upon.

“I am leaving tomorrow? Your All-Knowingness?” asked Yohan, still surprised.

“Yes, yes, Miss Lightheart has need to speak to you tomorrow morning about a friend of hers, and when you inform her of the rumors that you are trying to sprout as facts I am sure enough that you will all be wanting to hurry southwards as swiftly as you can manage,” explained Sage Williamsons.

“Why can’t Yohan speak with me now?” asked Paechra, unsure of how she was suddenly responsible for a red-robed apprentice sage.

“I have borne witness to the boy’s so called news from the city once already, it was not written and so it was not recorded, so it cannot be considered as fact,” said Williamsons.

“And why have you not chosen to record this, making it fact?” suggested the sylvan.

“Ripples in a pond, young lady, ripples in a pond,” suggested the old sage.

Paechra considered revealing to Sage Williamsons just how young she actually was but decided against it.

“Are you referring to the principle that information from the source will alter in state the more often that it is shared, especially when it is not the owner of the information that is doing the sharing?” asked Paechra.

“Why yes, Miss Lightheart, yes that is exactly what I am referring to,” said Sage Williamsons, genuinely surprised. “So, if you understand the principle so well you must know why, living upon the outskirts of the great kingdom of Thuraen, I can only record what I, myself witness, or what it is that gets relayed to me, first hand, by visitors such as yourself.”

“Of course, Oh Knowledgeable One,” said Paechra with a nod of her head. “But I do appreciate your clear and precise explanation.”

Yohan stifled another great yawn and swayed upon his feet.

“No fair, you get to go back to the city,” whispered Peter.

“No fair, you get to stay here by the sea,” Paechra overheard Yohan whisper back.

“Come, Your Wisdom, please allow me to take the book, send the boys to their rest,” suggested the younger Lightheart. “See, there, I can already see my friend Heidi has returned with two from my army, and for whatever reason, my mother is accompanying them.”

Paechra’s superior sight did indeed see the two male sylvan, Heidi, and the figure of Sarah Lightheart.

“If that is indeed true, and I do not doubt that it be so,” replied the old sage. “Indeed boys, give responsibility of the tome to Miss Lightheart and the two of you will immediately retire.”

Without another word or yawn, the pair of red-robed sages gave their senior a bow of respect, and Paechra a nod of thanks.

“I hope to see you both, tomorrow,” said Paechra. “You especially,” she added, her words directed towards Yohan.

Yohan nodded to show that he understood, and then both boys turned away from the shore and sped toward their beds.

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