Myran Page 8

  He led me to a hidden door and up a long, winding staircase. It was dark in that long hall, but my mind did not go so far as to wonder; I only trusted my silent companion. We passed through levels of the fortress, and after a time, I realized we had reached a great height. That was when he opened a door and led me out to a balcony. Cool air rushed over my body, for summer had passed, and now we lived in the depths of fall, anticipating a chill winter. Tears almost came to my eyes, for I was in reach of the tree boughs that were quickly shedding their full leaves for the deadness of winter. I was high enough to the sky, for we could reach out our arms to each other, and I felt I could touch the clouds. High above me was the Cloud Kingdom, a forsaken home for there were no Mermis in this world. The golden halls of their rainbow palace lay empty.

  “No one comes here.” Halender broke my mystic silence. “Not much anyway, except to keep watch every now and then. But you can hardly see for the trees.”

  In truth, all I saw were the thick, tangled branches of the trees, and above me, the stars, the sun, and even the moon would pass by my hidden window. I was out among the wild once again. “Thank you,” I said. “How did you know?”

  “There are White Steeds among the ‘wild things,’ or Iaen." I had told him they preferred to be called by their formal name instead of the loose term ‘wild things’ that most mortals used. "But they do not come here. It is too full of us, too full of people and our words, chasing each other around. There is no time to be still and understand our thoughts. We are alike in that way, you and I.” He glanced at me for a minute, taking his eyes away from the forest. “We like our silence.”

  I looked at him silently, and I thought I could be comfortable with just him, enjoying the silence. He touched my shoulder gently. “I must be away. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Myran, young wild one.”

  I hardly knew what to say. I took his hand, gently pressed it, and looked up into his dark eyes. The wind gently stirred his long black hair, and he dropped his hand, turned, and left. I felt something gently squeeze my heart, but it was too light for me to notice. And so six months after we had first come, Halender and Leon took their leave. I did not see them again for years, but I had found a place to get away from the noise and liveliness of life at the fortress. I could be alone.

  ***

  It wasn't that I was unhappy in the fortress; I was merely content to be safe with my people, who were not at all what I imagined. Then, after I had been there two years, during the year of 919, a sudden appearance occurred. One day life carried on as normal; the next, winged creatures on flying horses appeared with one who was not quite unlike us. He was a Cron with thick blond hair, and he called himself Cuthan the Adventurous. He was a golden youth that anyone would easily fall in love with. He was strong, brave, and strangely uplifted. I was nineteen that year; he was twenty-two, and unlike me, he had lived, truly lived. He came with Mermis, those creatures who, although they appear to be like us Crons, have silvery wings on their ankles and originated from a place called Spherical Land in the Western World. These particular Mermis were descendants of Crinte the Wise and Marklus the Healer, who were both part of the Five Warriors, those legendary heroes from the Western World. Because they were part Cron, they had lost the ability to fly, and so their horses, the Silver Herd, carried them whenever they wished.

  These strangers were readily welcomed into the fortress, and eventually, we were able to hear their stories. Cuthan was an excellent storyteller; he was from the Eastern World and relayed to us the beautiful tale of Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his friends. Apparently, something was wrong with the Eastern World; the land was dying, and a war was coming. Cuthan and his friends traveled to the perilous North Forests to search for the Clyear of Alaireia. He told tales of their adventures, but the story that enticed us the most, the story we begged for over and over, was how Magdela the Monrage was killed. Cuthan was there when Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword killed Magdela the Monrage, the enemy of our world and the one who started all this commotion and hatred between the White Steeds and the Black Steeds.

  We hung onto his every word, hoping and daring to believe that this Pharengon who carried the Jeweled Sword was the One we were waiting for, the One “Song” was sung about. “He will come when he is young. He will wield the Jeweled Sword.” Cuthan the Adventurous was quick to destroy our hopes; he told us the One would come from us, from our own world. How he would hold the Jeweled Sword was a mystery left to the hands of fate. Our hope faded once again, yet we still listened as he spoke of victory and then of his adventures and his salvation, of how he found the Mermis and begged them to take him with them. They had already toured the Western World, and now the South World was their last stop; they were going to the Pillars of Creation. I wanted to them to take me with them; their destination sounded glorious beyond my wildest dreams. But no, they would go on alone, leaving us with the hope of stories we repeated over and over amongst ourselves. Before they flew away towards Oceantic, three Mermis said they would stay and watch over the fortress. Their names were Indonesia, Sletaira, and Leaka.

  Once the three Mermis arrived and remained, a balance came over those who dwelled in the fortress. We did have a leader, a tall Cron who was wise, brave, and strong. His name was Uglar the Cron, and he had a young apprentice, Idrithar the Cron, who was only three years my junior. As much as Uglar was our leader and the Mermis supported him and made his paths smooth, there was something about Idrithar the Cron. Maybe I had spent too much time with the Green People, and their ways of foreseeing had rubbed off on me. When it came to Idrithar the Cron, I knew, in his long life, ultimately, he would play an enormous part in restoring this world from the hands of the Black Steeds. I hardly believed it, but that is what I saw in him. If only I had been able to see the future stretched out in front of me. If only.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Resistance

  Even in the midst of all the laughter and bustle, the talking and cheering, the eating and drinking, and the singing and thinking, there was a silent fear carried in the forefront of all our minds. When would they come? When would the roof cave in on all of us, killing us with one blow? Sometimes, during the evenings, when all were drifting apart and preparing for the long, dark night of sleep, we would look into each other's eyes, and the same fear would replay. No one spoke a word, but we all thought the same thing. Waiting for death brings an imperative coldness, and yet, there were some who resisted the fear of the Black Steeds. They were the ones who sat around late at night, planning and talking. They were the individuals who rode out and carried messages. They found young ones and rescued them from burning houses and the slaughter of the Black Steeds and brought them to the fortress. It was to them and their cause that I applied myself, which was where I found my place in the fortress.

  It was for this cause I found myself coming out of the self-placed shell I had crawled into long ago. In truth, I did miss the creatures of the wood, although I would never dare to admit that, even to myself. I missed the wide open spaces, but throwing my heart into something kept my thoughts busy and off of the dark shadows that played too near to all of us. In that time, my goal became to find a purpose, in a world torn with anger, bitter tyranny, and distrust, self is all one has. I was beginning to look beyond my introverted feelings, to try my hand at taming the wildness in the hundred-year dispute, and learn what ways I could help.

  Little by little, the young ones came, some as young as five and others enduring a decade of happiness only for it all to be swept away in one day. Some were in the between years, closer to my age, the time between childhood and the feeling of being grown up. One by one, I took them in my arms and held them through the unspoken grief. I felt the most for the smaller ones, looking into their large, lost eyes, I saw myself once again. All I could do was try to whisper away their fear. “You're alright now. You're safe now. No one will harm you now.” Even as I said those words, I wondered how long “now” would last and how long before the fut
ure came and sent us all to miserable deaths.

  ***

  The White Steeds were always going out on short travels and journeys through wild lands, gathering White Steeds, sending messages, joining forces, and training others for battle and combat. Hiding as we were, we were in action as well. At first, I did not know all of what was going on; everyone knew the stories of the world, but the real facts were tossed through the winds. In truth, White Steeds were separated and in hiding, doing their best to escape certain death. Bringing us together might as well be pointing to a large massacre. I did realize the value in hiding because if the Black Steeds found us at our fortress, in one blow, they could wipe us out rather than hunting down every small family who hid deep in this world. If these facts were known, they were not pointed out to us, because the leaders saw the value of many warriors defending the walls of the fortress. Even if they did sense a fear, they believed in the strength of the fortress and that our close proximity to the Pillars of Creation would protect us. If I should have scoffed at those words, I did not know. Those shut off from the world only know what is told to them, and it takes experience to know the difference between staying at the fortress or hiding in the wide world. All I had was history, not experience, but that was yet to come.

  Our leader, Uglar the Cron, was a firm believer in knowledge, and so we learned. Stories were passed by word of mouth, circling from one to the other. Everyone knew how to use a knife, be it for slicing meat or something else. All of the males at the fortress knew how to fight; some were sword fighters while others stuck to their bows and arrows, and others alternated. I shied away from the feeling of steel and the taut pull of a bow. I found wrapping bandages and learning of healing herbs more to my taste, although it could not be said I was a healer. Some are able to learn a certain task in life, but those who have inherited it from birth are the ones who should continue to delve deeper into carrying out the task.

  The continuous activity of the fortress was another thing I had to learn to live with. There was always something, and this led me to bouts of inactivity. I would grow antsy with the idea of so much going on. I wanted to know everything, but I did not want to know all, and my mind, determined to be satisfied, continued to gnaw at me. “What do they do?” I asked one Cron, breaking away from the usual nest of children.

  This time I ventured to where the Crons sat talking and debating. Sometimes the Mermis joined them, merely to listen and, other times, to serve them food (for they liked the great kitchens), and, young as they were, they were full of advice (which was seldom taken seriously). I slipped into the room of Crons once. Some sat around a table, others leaned against the wall, some smoked pipes, and others turned over tattered papers. They were all lean, hard Crons, and a couple of Tiders sat among them, nodding every once in a while. Wooden stools were here and there, and at intervals, the males would come and go. Some dashed out, rushing off on important errands, while others merely slipped away, declining to be a part of that decision-making body of the fortress. I saw I was not the only female who was curious enough to stick her nose into the business of how to save the world from the relative safety of the fortress.

  “What do they talk about?”I asked a nearby Cron. “What do they discuss here at all hours? What is the plan?”

  The Cron nodded and pointed at the table. Several people were talking and murmuring all at once; it was hard to understand what was going on. “They just talk about safety,” he said, “all the time; the plan is for safety for every White Steed. They come here, learn how to fight, and are surrounded by a band of warriors and these walls. Then we go out again, rescue more, and send messages to other White Steeds and leaders, telling them as stealthily as possible that we offer protection, secrecy, and small bands of warriors.”

  “Why?” I asked, wondering what good it would really do.

  “When it is time, we will have a vast army, scattered across the South World, and when the call comes to fight, or when the attack comes, whichever comes first, we will be ready.”

  I just looked at him. I didn't understand what good a group of warriors would do. Maybe he realized that, for he finished, “I wouldn't expect you to get it, but the concept is for us to be one. What good is it for all the White Steeds, how few or how many we are, to be scattered and clueless to our own destinies? At least, this way, we are forming a bond. Even the Black Steeds cannot break that.”

  There was a sense to what he said. But who were we to band together, forming a small army, to go up against a great power which had held unwavering control over the land for the past hundred years? Who were we to think anything could ever be done? We had nothing better to do than wait for death, so we planned, plotted, and dreamed up great fantasies of one day defeating the Black Steeds and living in a free world. We kept hope alive by repeating the stories of the past: the Five Warriors, Pharengon of the Jeweled Sword and his friends, and the fact that “Song” would come true one day. We told them to each other and then to the children. We whispered in their ears that one day the world would be all right and they would never have to lose anyone ever again. We all held on and believed that darkness could not hang on forever and one day the sun would break through, and there would be a riot of wild freedom and rejoicing. After all, it is always darkest just before light. Thus, we held on and believed, and the fact that nothing had changed in a hundred years did not daunt us. We stood boldly; we hid from the Black Steeds, sneaked around their borders, hid from their horses, and saved as many as possible from their foul deeds.

  “We are still alive yet,” the Cron told me. “There is still hope while we alive. We might as well do what we may.”

  And so, ignoring the pressing signs of hopelessness, I held on and did what I could.

  ***

  I hope one will see how my choices affected my tale. I did nothing wrong, nor would I change the consequences of my actions even though they left me in doubt. I did what I did. My thoughts changed. I found myself asking: what purpose is there in joining hands with a cold world determined to rip all away from me? My goal became to hold on to what was left and to never let go, even though, at last, it failed me. No brighter, nobler goals were reached nor were glorious dreams achieved, even thoughts of what I had ripped me up inside. If I am judged, begin with my childhood, start from the day it all began at age five and where it all ended. How I choose my course and found myself. I did not know what would happen. I was young and determined to do my part. For a while, I did join hands with that cold world and onward is where it led me.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Young Ones

  “How did this place come to be here?” one of the young ones asked me. This one was a little Cron. His curly, dark hair fell over into his inquisitive face. He was about ten years old. A five-year-old little girl sat in my lap, sucking her thumb and staring at him with large, blue eyes. Meanwhile, I played with her mop of long, blond hair, trying to tame the beast. Other children were expending energy around the room, playing with wooden swords, running, jumping, drawing with charred sticks, gathering around me, and asking questions. Such as Charlon. It was a perfectly natural question I supposed; although why a child would wonder how this vast and insurmountable place came to be was beyond me. There was no reason for him to want this information. Looking into his light eyes, I could tell he was curious about everything. I smiled. “When the first attacks against the White Steeds came, they saw that they were in dire need of a place of safety, a fortress for them to gather in and support one another. They decided to build one.”

  I remembered back to when this story was told to me. I learned many tales and stories of the world, even more so than when I had lived with the Green People. My mind was full of lore, and the children loved to hear stories of old heroes who, although circumstances looked dire indeed, saved their world. These were true stories, but it was impossible not to think of them as a warrior's dream, something that happened thousands of years ago in some storyteller's imagination.

  “Wh
at happened next?” I noticed the eager Charlon had scooted closer to me. He was a Cron at heart, ready for an adventure, and if none could be found, a story that would take him on one.

  “A small group of White Steeds was sent out to find the perfect place to build the fortress. Somewhere far from the reaches of the Black Steeds. Somewhere hidden and hard to reach. Somewhere known only to White Steeds. The White Steeds found that the farther southeast they went, the more beautiful the land came to be. They remembered, like a forgotten dream, that the Pillars of Creation could be reached by sailing southeast, as outwordly as it is. Finally, they reached the place, an empty patch of land in the middle of a wild forest, yet opening out to the sea, a place of calm expectation. Surrounding the area were piles of stones and leftover debris washed inland by Oceantic, and above was the Cloud Kingdom, although no one has ever known Mermis to live there.”

  I thought of the three Mermis who had been left when Cuthan the Adventurous passed through on his eternal journey. They occasionally went up to the Cloud Kingdom. Their horses, the Silver Herd, which flew them back and forth, were growing old though, and I feared that in a few more years, they would no longer be able to reach their paradise in the skies.